


Take You Down

by AuroSya



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Police, Deception, Dubious Consent, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse, Prostitution, Sexual Persuasion, Toxic Relationship, Unhealthy Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 51,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroSya/pseuds/AuroSya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the heart of New York City, SVU detective Arthur Kirkland is tasked with infiltrating a prostitution ring from the inside. But things quickly go awry when he becomes the latest fixation of the ring's leader: Francis Bonnefoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chase

**Author's Note:**

> De-anon from Hetalia Kink Meme

_Arthur hit the ground hard. The wind knocked out of him, he struggled to get his bearings, and scrambled to push Francis off him. The gun. He had to get to the gun first. He shoved, only to get a knee straight into his gut. He cried out, his outstretched hand recoiling as pain shot through him. Now Francis was closer, reaching and reaching. But right as his fingers brushed the handle, Arthur kicked out his leg and sent it spinning away. Francis whirled on him with a glare that could kill. Abandoning his efforts to grab the gun, instead he lunged for Arthur. All too quickly he was pinned, both of Francis' knees on his shoulders, and then his hands wrapped around his throat. Tighter and tighter Francis squeezed. Arthur gasped, clawing at his hands._

_"I'm going to enjoy snuffing out your life,_ mon lapin _," Francis said, leaning down so their eyes were inches apart. "I can't wait to see the light leave your eyes."_

* * *

 “We’ve got a sighting of a missing person,” Alfred said as he slid into the passenger side of a police cruiser. “Asian female, juvenile.”

Sliding the gear into drive, his partner glanced over at him. In an accent straight from the streets of London, he asked, “What’s the location?”

“She was spotted on the corner of the Saint Nicolas Youth Center, right across from Queen’s hospital. We’ve got to move fast – Captain says she’s suspected to be a vic of the prostitution ring we’re investigating.”

“Really?” Raising a brow, Arthur Kirkland pressed down on the accelerator and guided them out into the flow of traffic. “It's good we got the call. We’re only a couple of blocks away.”

Alfred grinned slightly. "Yeah, no kidding."

The two had been partners for three years – paired up when fresh out of the academy together and making their way up the ranks to become detectives in the Special Victims Unit. It wasn't a perfect partnership, but they trusted each other, and that was what counted. 

Alfred leaned against his door and scanned the throngs of pedestrians they were zooming past. It took not a moment for Arthur to notice the unusual quiet. Alfred was an absolute chatterbox; but in moments like these, when they were hitting towards home, there was little to say. He hesitated for a brief moment before starting, “I’m sure your brother isn’t among them.”

“Yeah, you don’t think I fucking know that?” Alfred snapped, shooting a look at Arthur that immediately got him to drop the subject. He then turned back to the window and starting to jiggle his leg. A nervous habit. 

Arthur wisely chose not to speak again until they were rounding the corner right beside Queen’s hospital. “Did they send us a picture of the victim?” he asked, and Alfred pulled his phone out of his pocket. A few taps of the finger later, and he was showing a picture of a Taiwanese girl – not a day older than fourteen – with brown eyes and brown hair that went well past her shoulders. _Much too young to be missing_ , he thought with a suppressed sigh, and turned his attention back to the streets. 

It was abruptly then that he saw a slightly older version of the picture being forced into a dark van by two men. “Shit!” He slammed down on the brakes, almost making Alfred smack his head against the dash. “There she is!” The car doors slammed shut behind the girl, and the men that had forced her inside jumped into the van. Within a matter of seconds they were starting down the street.

Arthur slammed his foot down on the accelerator and sent the tires screeching on the asphalt. They sped off after the van as Alfred snatched up the radio from the dashboard. “Dispatch, we’ve got a sighting on the missing girl and potential suspects,” he said into the receiver. “We are in pursuit!”

The SUV took a left, and Arthur followed with a tight turn, making sure to stay as close as he dared. “Alfred, see if you can get the license plate,” he said – only to swear loudly when the van sped up. “They know they've got a tail!”

After rambling off only a couple of the SUV's plate numbers, Alfred looked up and asked, “Lights and sirens?”

“Do it.”

The wail of police sirens filled the streets of New York and lights flashed from the front grid. Of course, the van didn’t slow down in the slightest – instead speeding up even more as other cars on the street swerved out of the way to avoid collisions. Arthur gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, occasionally having to jerk around a pedestrian car that was too slow in moving out of the way and swearing each time.

“Come on, Artie! We’re losing them,” Alfred said, between giving responses to the live radio spitting back constant feedback from other officers planning to join the pursuit.

“I’m going as fast as I can!” Arthur brought his attention back to the road right in time to see the dark van take an abrupt left onto a main street. “Hold on!” The back end of their car fishtailed as they turned, tires squealing before straightening out. The chase got twice as difficult when the van started to weave in and out through the slower traffic. The driver took a risky right around a horn-blaring red Ferrari, vanishing from sight around a white SUV, and then reappearing as it swerved left to avoid a man on a motorized scooter.

Pressing the accelerator flat against the floor, Arthur gained on the cars ahead of them. By now the Ferrari had pulled to the side and almost had the side mirror clipped as they sped past. The white SUV still had yet to get the memo, and he had to veer the car to the right in order to avoid smashing into its bumper. It was soon a dangerous game of cat and mouse, with the van darting between cars and trying to avoid being directly in front of the police that was pursuing it. Several times they nearly hit someone, leaving both Arthur and Alfred swearing colorfully.

Arthur had been certain that they were gaining on them. But he hadn't counted on the garbage truck that suddenly rolled out from a side street. The van was ahead enough and only had to weave to avoid collision. They weren’t nearly as lucky. With a shout of “Fuck!” Arthur was forced to slam down on the brakes and cause their cruiser to skid to a grinding halt a mere inches in front of the massive green vehicle.

Both of them had been thrown forward from the momentum, and as Alfred straightened up, he slapped his hand against the dash. “We lost them!” He threw the radio out of anger, before grabbing for it again and bringing it to his lips. “Dispatch, we have lost visual of the suspects. Call in for immediate back-up and pick up pursuit!”

Arthur was panting, adrenaline still coursing through his veins even as he pried his hands from the steering wheel. Despite how his partner was barking out information to the other patrol officers in the area, he knew that it was hopeless. All chances of them catching that van were blown clear into the wind.

He tipped his head back against his seat and shut his eyes. “Shit.”

* * *

 “So our suspects got away?” The captain of the NYC Special Victims Unit was sitting at her desk, arms folded across her chest and a disappointed frown on her face. "How?" 

Arthur struggled to think of a good response. It was a rookie mistake that he was kicking himself for still. Alfred beat him to it. “They got lucky,” he said, throwing his hands up and heaving an exasperated sigh. He was just as disappointed. “If it weren't for that dumpster truck, we would've had them.”

“Or we might've lost them at a later point,” Arthur reluctantly added.

Their captain sat back in her chair and shut her eyes with a sigh. They had been working on trying to bust that underground prostitution ring for a little over a year. Ever since they had caught wind of it, they'd arrested a few pimps and traffickers. But the system was far more complicated than they initially thought. Even now they were no closer finding the center of the ring than they had been when they started.

Elizabeta Hedervary – captain of the SVU– was particularly determined to nail the people responsible. Their fierce and strong captain was a mother of two young children. He couldn't blame her for taking the growing pile of missing children's cases as a personal offense. 

“Have you two finished filing the report?” Elizabeta asked, opening her eyes and frowning as her gaze alternated between the two.

“Yes,” Arthur said. “I've submitted both. They should be on your desk in an hour or two.”

She flashed a grateful smile at Arthur, and then looked over at his partner. “You may go. But,” she suddenly added when Arthur turned to follow his partner out the door. “I'd like to speak with you, Arthur. Alone.”

The two exchanged a glance with each other. A mutual confusion passed between them, and Alfred shrugged. “Whatever. I'll be grabbing some coffee if you need me.” He gave a casual salute to his captain as he stepped out of the office and pulled the door shut behind him.

Arthur turned to Elizabeta with a concerned frown. After a second of silence, he then inquired, “What did you want to talk about?” He doubted it had anything to do with the way they handled chasing the suspects. There were no accidents or damage to city property – which was the reason that he was driver and not Alfred – so he had little idea on what his captain wanted. 

She stood up from behind her desk, palms flat on the cluttered surface as her hair swished over her shoulders. Without a word, she reached into her drawers and pulled out a file, which was then held out to Arthur. “It's the missing person's file on Jones's brother,” she said in response to his questioning stare.

About seven years ago, Alfred's twin brother Matthew was abducted. He was last spotted on the way to their school, with high speculations that a human trafficking ring was responsible for his disappearance. Everyone assumed he was either dead, or worse. Arthur knew Alfred well enough to know that he blamed himself for not walking to school with his brother that morning. It was this guilt – and his hope that Matthew was still out there somewhere – that drove Alfred to join the police force. 

With a smidgen of hesitance, Arthur took it and flipped open the folder. Immediately, he was met with a picture of young Matthew – a spitting image of his brother. It was a yearbook picture, with the boy wearing an awkward smile and peering behind thick glasses that seemed much too big for his face. He stared down at the picture for a long moment before looking up at his captain. “What are you showing me this for?”

Elizabeta tapped her fingernails against the wooden surface of her desk. “Read me the details of his abduction.”

Arthur turned his gaze back down. He skipped over the standard information – name, age, date of birth, etcetera – and went straight to the eyewitness reports. “Matthew Jones was reported to have been abducted two blocks away from York Preparatory school. Three witnesses claim that they saw two unidentifiable men approach him and force him into a dark van, with the first three license plate numbers reading...” He trailed off and went quiet whilst staring down at the paper. There was a long silence before he looked at Elizabeta. “Those numbers match the ones that Alfred was able to identify from the vehicle we chased this morning.”

His captain nodded, and sank back into her chair. “It's too much of a coincidence for me to believe that there's not a connection between the van that took Jones's brother and the one that you two pursued today.”

Arthur snapped the folder shut. "If Alfred finds out you're withholding this information from him, he'll be pissed – and I don't blame him!” He tossed it onto the desk in front of him. “Why are you sharing this with me? Why not Alfred? He has more of a right to know about this than I do.”

“Jones is a good kid,” Elizabeta replied, folding her hands in front of her chest with a soft sigh. “But when it comes to his family, you've seen how he gets. If he knew about this, he'd just let his emotions get in the way.”

She had a point. Arthur thought over his words carefully before saying, “But not letting him know could be worse. If he found out somehow, he wouldn't be very thrilled with the two of us.” Especially if Alfred found out that he was keeping stuff from him. They were partners, and partners didn't keep secrets from each other. Especially not something this personal.

Elizabeta tapped her pen against the edge of her desk. She bit her lip, something she did whenever deep in thought, and finally relented with a sigh. “You make a good point, Arthur,” she admitted. “Which is why I'm going to leave you with the responsibility of telling him when you think the time is right.”

Shock made him gape. He sputtered, “Why me?!”

“Because Jones looks up to you.” She gave Arthur a stern look. “You may have graduated and entered my unit at the same time, but you've always been like an older brother to him. He trusts you. Looks up to you, even.” When Arthur gave her a dubious frown, she sighed and said, “Trust me on this. If he has to know, it's best he hears it from you.”

Arthur didn't want to admit that she was right – _again_. But she was. “Alright," he said, "I'll tell him." 

Relieved, Elizabeta picked up Matthew's folder off and put it back in her desk drawers. “Good. You can have the rest of the day off. Make sure Alfred knows you're heading out. He can head home early, too, if he wants.”

Arthur nodded to his captain, opening the door to the office and vanishing into the precinct. 

* * *

It was around six o'clock the next morning when Arthur got a call. At a volume that was almost obscene, his phone trilled over and over until he groped for it on the bedside table. Once he had it, he sat up on one elbow and brought it to his ear. “'Ello?” He got out – and was met by a sharp voice on the other end. 

“Arthur, you need to come down to the precinct. _Now_.”

It was Elizabeta. Confused, Arthur sat up further and rubbed an eye with the heel of his palm. “What's the matter?” On the other end, he could hear muffled shouting. Someone was pissed, and he had a guess on who it was. 

“Jones found out.”

His guess was right. Arthur rested his arm on his knees, thinking about how it was way too early for him to be dealing with this. He rubbed his face, and asked, “Do you need me to come in at this very moment?”

The sigh on the other end was more than enough. “Yes. He's going ballistic.” Another furious shout from the background. With the lack of other background noise, she was likely in her office.

“I'll be there in fifteen minutes,” Arthur said as he slid out of bed, and hung up. It was going to be a long day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I revised this chapter. Heavily. Now I like it a lot more.


	2. Conflict

Arthur could hear his partner yelling in Elizabeta's office the moment he stepped into the precinct. He sighed, lifting up a hand to run his fingers through his hair and he made his way to the door. No way was he looking forward to tackling Alfred's frustration. Especially not this early in the day. A few other cops shot glances at him as he passed; some were sympathetic, others questioning. But he paid them no mind, and instead braced himself for the shitstorm he was about to walk into. The shouts became more distinguishable the closer he got to the office, and it couldn't be any more obvious that his partner was furious.

“How the hell could keep something so important from me?” Alfred shouted at Elizabeta. Arthur opened the door just in time to hear it, and he slipped inside as quietly as he could manage. “Cap, I've told you that if there's anything new with my brother's case, you've got to let me know!”

“Jones, calm down,” Elizabeta said, sounding as exasperated as she looked. She was again sitting behind her desk and leaning on her elbow for support. A cup of coffee from Starbucks sat still steaming next to her.

“Calm down?" Alfred looked incredulous. "You want me to calm down?"  

Arthur cleared his throat. Jolting in surprise, Alfred turned and stared at him. He was surprised, at first, but it quickly morphed into anger. “You knew, too, didn't you?” He stomped over to him and jabbed an accusing finger at his chest. “You didn't tell me anything!”

“For God's sake, Alfred,” Arthur said, pushing his finger away and scowling. “I was going to tell you when I felt like you could handle it.”

“I _am_ handling it!”

“Really? I couldn't tell." Arthur scoffed and crossed his arms in front of him. “I wanted to wait so you wouldn't blow up at us like this." 

Alfred looked even more livid than before. “How else would I react to you guys not telling me anything?”

“We _were_ going to tell you,” Arthur said, stealing a glance over at Elizabeta. He wasn't about to rat her out. "We just found out yesterday. It's not like we've been keeping this to ourselves for ages." 

“Dammit, Artie, you've got no idea what this means to me, do you?!” Alfred threw his hands up into the air. “The guys that took Mattie are still out there! And they're snatching other kids off the streets! They've been at it for seven years – fuck, probably even _longer._ ”

“We know, Alfred,” Arthur said through gritted teeth. “Believe me, we're just as upset with this as you are.”

Alfred turned away, starting towards their captain's desk before spinning on his heels once more to glare at his partner. “Mattie could still be alive!” he blurted, and clenched his hands into fists. “He could've been alive and with those bastards for seven whole _fucking_ years!”

“Jones, enough,” Elizabeta said, getting to her feet. “We don't know that. All that we know is that there is a _high_ chance that the men that took your brother are the same ones that you two chased after yesterday.”

Alfred whipped around to turn his glare onto the woman behind the desk. “Isn't that proof enough?!” His voice cracked, and he narrowed his eyes before staring down at the floor. Arthur sympathized with Alfred – something he knew his partner would hate. He couldn't imagine what he was going through, nor what he'd been going through the past seven years. He understood his anger. It didn't make it any less frustrating to deal with, but he understood. 

"I know you're upset, Alfred,” Arthur said. “But we need to think rationally right now. Letting your emotions get the best of you is never good. You know that.”

Alfred continued to glare at the floor. This wasn't the first time that the subject of Matthew had made him lose it. Every time that a pimp was brought in, he would let his anger get the worst of him, and as a result, they nearly had to drop several cases due to the suspects claiming that their interrogator had gotten unnecessarily aggressive with them. Alfred was a great detective. But his passion got the best of him way too often. 

He stepped towards Alfred and placed a hand on his shoulder. When it wasn't shrugged away, Arthur gave him a squeeze. “Let's grab some breakfast to clear our heads. After that we can come back and talk about this.”

Elizabeta nodded in agreement to that, and added, “Make sure you both get some coffee in you.” She sighed and grabbed her own cup, looking ready to down it in one go. “You're dismissed.”

 

* * *

 

At a nearby Dunkin Donut's – as cliche as it was, Arthur wasn't about to eat breakfast at a McDonald's and contract some sort of heart disease – the two sat together at a table just outside of the little shop. Already it looked like Alfred was calming down, and, as he was on his second sandwich, he could've fooled himself into thinking his outburst was brought on by a low blood-sugar. He watched his partner pig out, letting him get the works: donuts, hash browns, breakfast sandwiches, and, of course, an extra large cup of coffee with all the cream and sweeteners that could possibly be fit into it.

Arthur was surprised his partner wasn't morbidly obese. Or diabetic.

“So you really were going to tell me, Artie?” Alfred asked around a bite of a horrifyingly glazed-donut breakfast sandwich. “You weren't lying?”

“Of course I wasn't lying,” Arthur replied, watching as his partner stuffed his face, and took a sip of his tea. “I was going to tell you today... Probably.” After setting the styrofoam cup down onto the table, he picked up his raisin muffin and took a bite.

Alfred frowned a little, and then he took a guilty bite of his sandwich. “I'm sorry for getting so pissed at you, Artie.” He finished off his fattening sandwich and then picked up some of the hash-browns, stuffing two into his mouth. “I didn't—”

“Finish chewing,” Arthur interrupted. “You're twenty-three, not seven.”

His partner did so, and once he had swallowed, he started again: “I didn't mean to freak out like that. It's just really hard, y'know?” Alfred picked up his coffee cup and slurped some of the contents, staring off to the side and at the sidewalk.

Arthur nodded. “I know. It doesn't make it alright, but I'll forgive you this time.”

“This time?” At that, Alfred couldn't help but snort and crack a faint grin. “You always say that, dude. But I haven't found one time where you haven't forgiven me!”

“Oh, fuck off, you git.”

The two ate in a partial silence. They listened to the incoherent chatter of pedestrians walking past them, and of the various sounds of passing cars. It was as peaceful as New York could get.

Finally, after another minute or two, Alfred finished off his third donut and looked up from his food to his partner. “You know, they're talking about sending in someone undercover.”

“Really now?” Arthur paused, his tea halfway to his lips as he stared at Alfred in surprise. Setting down the cup, he frowned and asked, “Where did you hear that?”

“Cap was talking about it on the phone,” Alfred said, eating another hash-brown. He chewed, swallowed, and then went on: “It was the day before yesterday – you know, before we chased after those fuckers that took my brother.” For a second his eyes flashed angrily. Salt was being rubbed into the wound. 

Not wanting the topic to venture into an emotional minefield, Arthur cleared his throat and asked, “What did she say about it?” He didn't need to ask how Alfred even overheard this sort of conversation; he liked to eavesdrop on things he wasn't supposed to. 

“I didn't catch all of it, but...” Alfred pursed his lips and looked up in thought. It didn't take him long to recall the details of the conversation. “It was a lot of stuff about how the only way they'd be able to catch the perps and shut them down is if they figure out where they are.”

That was the truth. They could only arrest the pimps on charges of illegal prostitution. There was no way of connecting them to the big ring that was in charge of it all. It would take a long time to just arrest every pimp – and besides, they had no idea how many victims were involved. Their captain suspected at this point that all of the victims are kept in one place, a safe area, and without knowing where it was, they couldn't make an aggressive move without endangering the victims.

“None of the pimps that we've arrested knew about where the base of the operations is,” Alfred went on, holding a half-eaten donut with sprinkles on with a single finger. “They get the girls and boys brought to them, apparently, from a separate location. We've only caught the minnows, and the sharks are still out there.”

“So what Elizabeta wants is to stick one of her detectives inside? So they can figure out its location?” He scoffed. "Sounds like a suicide mission."

Alfred took a bite of his donut and then said, in a nonchalant tone, “I was thinking of volunteering.”

Arthur spat out some of his tea, and all but slammed his cup down onto the table. “Absolutely not!” 

“Why not?” Alfred asked, not getting why he wasn't supporting his stupid plan.

Arthur stared at the other incredulously. There were several reasons why he couldn't let Alfred volunteer. “Do you have any idea what going undercover in this sort of crime ring entails?” He asked. “You will be on your own. No back-up; no rescues if you get in a pinch. Hell, you won't even know where you are!” 

Doubt flickered to cross Alfred's eyes for a moment. But then he frowned again and said, “So what? Are you saying I can't handle that?”

“I'm trying to say that it would be stupid for you to take such a risky job when you have little control over your emotions over _certain_ topics,” Arthur said, allowing each word to sink in. There was a pause, and then he asked, “What would happen if you saw Matthew? What if, by some miracle of miracles, he's part of this, and you run into him?”

Alfred sat up straight almost immediately. “Well, I'd—”

“No, here is what you would do,” Arthur cut him off, and held up a hand to begin counting off the steps on his fingers. “You would immediately try to make contact with him. If you succeed, he will recognize you – which is the  _worst_ that can happen while you're undercover – and you'll try everything in your power to act as some sort of hero by risking a stupid escape plan that will get _both_ of you killed.” 

Gritting his teeth, Alfred taken aback for a few seconds before he mustered a response. “Y-you... You don't know that!” But it was clear that Arthur had nailed it. When this sank in for Alfred, he huffed and sat back in his seat. He scowled down at the table before snatching up his last breakfast sandwich and starting to scarf it down.

When nothing else was said other than the sound of food being rapidly devoured, Arthur spoke up once more. “I know you, Alfred – and I can't let you to take that job.” He doubted that the captain would either. But again, Elizabeta might not have a choice if the higher-ups breathed down her neck. If it came down to that, he wouldn't know what he would do.

Alfred didn't respond, now either ignoring him or simply not having anything to say. The look in his eyes, however, didn't reassure him in the slightest. He wasn't deterred. The drive to find his brother was stronger. Even if Matthew wasn't there, Alfred would stop at nothing to put the men that had taken him behind bars.

Knowing that Alfred would do anything to accomplish his goal scared Arthur immensely.

* * *

They got back to the police precinct roughly an hour before noon. Alfred was still determined to go undercover, and nothing that Arthur said to him changed his mind. In fact, his protests were eventually met by immature silence. It was agitating in itself. By the time they were walking out from the elevator and into the SVU, Arthur was as angry at his partner as he was with him. He and Alfred both sat down at their respective desks beside each other, and for the first time he wished they had different seating arrangements.

They went over reports, cases that needed coverage, and so on. Neither were willing to actually speak to one another, however, so next to nothing got done. 

An hour passed at a snail's pace. Arthur was about to offer taking a mundane patrol when the the captain's office door opened. On an instinct, he lifted his head and turned in his seat, Alfred doing the same. Elizabeta exited her office with none other than Ludwig Beilschmidt, the commanding officer of the Organized Crime Control Bureau . It was with raised brows that Arthur took in the intimidating sight. He muttered a few words to a grim-faced Elizabeta, who then whistled to catch the unit's attention.

"As I'm sure many of you know, Bureau Chief Beilschmidt and I have been collaborating on a case against a human trafficking ring in our city.” There were a few murmurs in response, and she went on, “for the past few days we've been discussing our options. We've decided that our best option at this point in the investigation is to send in a detective undercover.”

Alfred and Arthur were the only ones not surprised by this. He stole a glance over at Alfred, and scowled at his eager expression. 

“We'll need a volunteer for this task,” the commanding voice of Beilschmidt boomed out across the station. “As my bureau does not normally deal with prostitution alone, we have decided that it would be appropriate to take someone from the Special Victims Unit.”

A somewhat uneasy murmur rose up from the other detectives and officers in the room. Going undercover wasn't always the most wanted thing; but it was especially more so for a case like this. None seemed eager to volunteer themselves for this. 

With each second that ticked by, Elizabeta looked strained. At any moment, Alfred would jump at the chance and volunteer himself. There was only one way he could stop him. Arthur would kick himself later, he was sure, but if it kept his stupid partner safe, then...

Arthur pushed himself to his feet, and said, loud enough for the entire room to hear, “I'll go in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavily revised the chapter! Again, like it a lot better now.


	3. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I merged chapters three and four into one, figuring it would make more sense!

 

When Arthur rang Alfred's doorbell later that evening, there was a bag slung over his shoulder and a cat carrier in his hand. The lock turned with a click. The door pulled open a small crack, and when Arthur caught a glimpse of Alfred, he opened his mouth. But then the door slammed shut in his face before he got the chance. Miffed, but not surprised, he rang the doorbell again. "Come on, Alfred. Open the door.

“Alfred, this is very immature of you.

“Come on, you can’t make me stand out here forever.

“Alfred, please. Just let me drop off Butterscotch and I’ll go.”

The door opened. Alfred stood in the doorway, donned in sweatpants and a stained t-shirt. He was scowling. However, he didn’t stop Arthur from heading into his messy apartment.

“Your cat’s name is gay.”

“Wow, I've never heard that one before," Arthur said as he placed the cat carrier on the floor. He undid the clasps and waited for his Scottish Fold to emerge. Only after the cat came waltzing out did he straighten up. “You remember the routine, right?”

“Duh,” Alfred said and took Arthur's bag from him. “I’ve got a cat, too, man. Or are you getting too old to remember that?”

“Oh, ha-ha.” Rolling his eyes, Arthur glanced around in case he spotted the giant feline. “I meant, do you remember how I _prefer_ to have my cat taken care of? Roosevelt is fat, and I don't want Butterscotch to end up like that.”

“He is not fat. He’s fluffy.”

“I can’t remember a time when 'fluff' was heavy enough to break a china plate by jumping on it.”

“Are you still pissed over that?! Dude, I paid for you to get another teacup platter or whatever it was for.”

Shaking his head, Arthur looked back over at Alfred. They stared at each other for a few moments, his partner looked away and crossed his arms. “You’re a jackass,” Alfred said, “Taking the job when you  _knew_ —"

“It was in your best interest,” Arthur said, cutting him off. “We’re partners, and part of that means keeping you from making stupid decisions.”

“Whatever,” Alfred snapped, yanking the front door open and gesturing for his friend to make leave. “I’ll take care of your gay-ass cat for you. Now go home.”

Arthur wasn't about to argue. Getting through to Alfred right now wasn't going to happen. He was still pissed. "Fine," he said, heading into the hall and turning back to look at him. “Take care, Alfred.”

His response was the door slamming shut. 

* * *

It was extremely uncomfortable on the floor of the truck. For the umpteenth time Arthur tried shifting. Something was prodding into his lower back. He turned his head to the side – only to bump his forehead against a metal bar beneath the seats. He swore, and the driver – a man named Tim – let out a laugh. “Sorry 'bout that,” he said, followed by a heavy drag of the cigarette dangling on his lip. He exhaled, the acrid stench of cigarettes filling the car, and went on, “But we’ve gotta make this authentic, don’t we?”

 _You don’t say_ , Arthur thought, tugging again on the binds wrapped around his wrists and ankles. For keeping things authentic, it certainly was uncomfortable and annoying. He couldn’t imagine being forced to travel like this all the time. The truck ran over a pothole, and he was bounced on the floor, hitting his head on the pole again. "Ow, fuck!" 

“Oh, be quiet, you baby,” came Tim's response, and his fingers drummed on the steering wheel. “We’re almost at the drop-off.”

Arthur bit back a retort. He wasn't supposed to talk. A terrified trafficking victim wouldn't be as verbal with the driver as he was being. But at this point, he was trying to keep his mind elsewhere. Anywhere but where he was about to go. 

* * *

  _“This who we’re going to use to get you inside,” Elizabeta said as Arthur read over the case file. “His name is Tim Opperman – a drug dealer that’s been working for us ever since we caught him trying to smuggle in narcotics from Holland. He’s told us that it’s common for the prostitution ring to get their workers through pimps.”_

_“As of today, your name is Arthur Grey,” Ludwig went on, producing a London driver’s license and flashing it to Arthur. “You were born in London, if anyone thinks to ask, so don’t really bother to hide your accent.” He tucked the license into an already stuffed envelope. “You won’t be allowed to carry around identification, of course, but if it’s ever needed, Tim will have all the information they'll need.”_

_“What’s my backstory?” Arthur asked as he changed into an itchy dark turtleneck and a pair of dirty jeans. A glance in the mirror gave off a 'haven't bathed properly in weeks' vibe._

_“Tim’s got it covered, but so that nothing clashes, we’ll give you the basics. You were kidnapped on your way to university less than two months ago and brought to the United States illegally. Your previous pimp sold you to Tim, who in return is going to be ‘renting’ you out to the prostitution ring.”_

_“Lovely,” Arthur replied, and bent down to tie the laces of his ragged sneakers._

_“Hedervary has told me to tell you that she advises extreme caution. At some point she will try to get another undercover cop in to serve as your ‘customer’ for a debrief on the current situation. If things are too dangerous, we will pull you out.” Ludwig cleaned his glasses with a pocket handkerchief. “But I know that you’ll be careful.”_  

* * *

The truck screeched to an abrupt halt. Arthur grunted as he yet again hit his head on the bar beneath the backseat. They were stopped now, and Arthur was tempted to ask where. But Tim shut off the engine, and that was answer enough. They'd reached the drop-off point. 

Arthur laid in complete silence, listening to the pounding of his own heart before he heard it; faint footsteps approaching the car. The driver’s side door opened, and a thick Asian accented voice rang out: “Get out of the truck.” The seat groaned as Tim complied, his boots hitting the cement and his hunting jacket crunching a little as he moved.

“Are you armed?”

“Only a handgun – on my belt. Don't worry, I won’t touch it. Search me if you’d like.”

“Pass. Where is the delivery?”

“Back seat. The latch is on the side.”

The footsteps moved to the side door, and Arthur’s heart raced. The door was opened, and through his blindfold he could make out the searching beam of a flashlight. The man then fumbled for a moment longer with finding the latch, and then, with a clunk, the compartment was opened. Now the flashlight was shone directly down on his face. Even with his eyes shut and a blindfold over them, he ended up wincing from the intense brightness.

“This is him?”

“Yeah, it is," Tim said, and his lighter clicked as he lit his second cigarette. “Didn't you get the memo?”

“Get him out.”

The flashlight vanished, and Tim sighed. Suddenly, his calloused hands were yanking off the binds around his ankles and scooped Arthur out of his hidden compartment. He grunted and squirmed on a reflex, but put up hardly any fight. In seconds his shoes hit the pavement, and he straightened up as best as he could. Tim kept a firm grip on the back of his neck, but otherwise didn't restrain him further.

“Do you have my money?” Tim asked, and his response was a bag tossed to him. Tim caught it with one hand, and the hand holding Arthur by the neck twitched with the desire to check the contents.

“That is the down payment, as promised,” the man said, and once more the flashlight was shone right in Arthur's face. “We will get you the rest if Bonnefoy is satisfied with the merchandise.”

Tim let out a grunt. “As long as you didn’t stiff me, that works for me,” he said, and pushed Arthur forward. Before the detective could move another inch, though, the barrel of a gun was pushed to his chest. Arthur froze. There was a tense silence, with the man not saying a word as Tim counted out the bundles of cash in the bag.

It seemed like an eternity before Tim zipped up the bag again and said, “Alright. You can take him.”

The man moved the gun, jabbing it instead between his shoulder blades. "Move," he ordered, and Arthur obeyed. He was guided a few feet by the man, stumbling blind and with the cold barrel repeatedly prodded at his spine. He didn’t stop until he bumped into the back of a car and winced when the bumper got him right below the kneecap. The man grabbed him by the collar, jerking him back so he could open up the trunk. A whoosh of air hit Arthur in the face as it swung open, and after another prompt with the gun, he climbed into it. 

Once inside, the man called over his shoulder to Tim: “We will contact you in a week on whether or not we want to keep this deal going.” The trunk was then slammed shut. 

Arthur strained to listen for any more conversation. But the engine of Tim's truck soon revved to life, and he drove off. Gravel crunched as the man got into his own car. Taking in deep breaths and keeping his eyes shut beneath the blindfold, Arthur struggled to remain calm. He was in uncharted territory now, and there was no going back. 

All he could hope was that he wasn't making a mistake. 

* * *

Arthur lost track of how long he was in the trunk. It could have been hours, but he dozed off so many times that he couldn't be sure. It was cramped in the trunk. He lost count of how many times an arm or foot started to go numb, forcing him to shift – only to have another part go numb not long after. He tried rolling onto his opposite side, bumping his shoulder on the roof of the trunk and feeling his spine pop. "Fuck," he whispered, and again tried to get comfortable.

He'd resorted to mumbling poetry under his breath when the car rolled to a stop. His eyes widened, ears straining as they were engulfed in an almost deafening silence. Finally, after about a minute, the front door to the car was opened and slammed shut. It was in tense silence that he waited for the man to come over and let him out. 

Instead the footsteps walked off, and then a garage door began to open right outside the trunk. It rumbled and creaked, nearly making Arthur jump into the air and smack his forehead on the trunk’s door. The moment the screeching stopped, he heard voices – with two new ones accompanying the man from before.

“... not exactly as Opperman had described, but if he’s from London like we were told, that should still bring in good business.”

“Bonnefoy will be happy to hear that.” The second voice was a woman, much to Arthur’s surprise. She sounded from somewhere in eastern Europe. There was startling lack of emotion in her words. 

“I wonder just how fresh this chap’ll be.” Another man, with a thick Australian accent, spoke up. “He's only a rental, right? I figure he might’ve had a few jabs in the freckle by now at least. It’s a shame, though – can you imagine how much we’d get selling his virginity?”

Arthur felt his stomach roll, and he gritted his teeth as the voices drew even closer. It wasn’t much long after that when the trunk was popped open. The stares of all three burned into his skin, and he tried to remain still. There was a brief silence, and then, the butt end of a rifle prodding at his cheek.

“Oi?” It was the Australian. “You dead? Or wish you were? Playing possum doesn’t work on us, y’know.” After grinding the end of the gun against his cheek and pushing it almost uncomfortably against his molars, it was pulled away. A sharp bark of laughter left the man. “He’s either stubborn or Wang’s awful driving actually killed him.”

An indignant snort sounded from the first man: Wang. “My driving is better than yours any day. I am driver for reason, and do not forget it.” Gravel crunched and suddenly Arthur was yanked up out of the trunk. “Get on your feet! We are not patient!”

The collar of his turtleneck dug into his throat as Arthur was pulled from the car, his legs scrambling for footing so he wouldn’t collapse to the ground. He gasped for air once his collar was released, and the Australian laughed behind him: “Oh, look! The bastard’s awake after all.”

“Not for long,” the woman spoke up for the first time in minutes. There was a soft pop as a cap was pulled off. She ordered: “Thompson, hold him still."

A pair of much stronger hands grabbed Arthur and yanked him back against a sturdy chest. “Hold still, and this won't hurt a bit!” Thompson advised, and wrapped his thick arm around Arthur's neck. He choked, tied hands going up to tug and claw at the arm constricting his windpipe. The grip was so tight around his neck that it was almost impossible to breathe.

“Jesus, he's a fighter. Arlovskaya, just get on with it, before he peels off my arm hair.”

There was no response other than the sudden uplift of his shirt and the sting of a needle being jabbed into his side. Arthur hissed, a cold fluid pumping into his bloodstream and numbing up his insides. Panic flared in his frantically chest – which of course, only made the drug spread faster. It was getting impossible to pull at Thompson's arm, with his muscles going lax and his head swimming as he fought to remain conscious.

Right before Arthur passed out, Thompson sneered, “Hope you don't have a triazolam allergy!”

* * *

When Arthur eventually came to, his head was throbbing. Everything was still foggy, each move he made sluggish. He groaned, his throat hoarse and his mouth dry. _How long was I out?_ He wondered, and with a bit of effort, he opened his eyes. The blindfold was gone – and although his vision was a bit bleary at first, it was a relief to be able to see.

Running his tongue over his lips to wet them, Arthur tried to sit up. But the sharp bite of metal in both of his wrists stopped him. He turned his head. Someone had handcuffed him to the metal headboard of the bed. He strained his neck staring at the cuffs before he collapsed back onto the pillow with a sigh. Without a key, he wasn't about to escape. 

He took the time to collect his thoughts. There was no question that he was in the heart of the ring. As for where he was, he had no clue. Looking around, he gauged that he was in a room with no windows. The only light was from a single glaring bulb hanging from the ceiling. Aside from his bed, there were three more. 

The door suddenly bounced open with a clang. Arthur jolted on the bed, trying to sit up on an instinct only to be painfully reminded of the cuffs around his wrists and grimacing. Two young men walked into the room, both blond and much too thin. One was talking, waving his hands in an animated fashion. 

“—they threatened to cut off my tongue! Can you believe that?” he was going on, and only stopped when he spotted Arthur. “Holy shit. Raivis, look – he's awake!”

Raivis looked barely a day over fifteen. His eyes went wide and he ran over to Arthur's bed. "Oh, thank God. We thought you were overdosed." 

“ _He_ thought you were overdosed," the other boy corrected, joining Raivis and folding his arms in front of him. "I checked your pulse. Raivis is just a worrywart." 

Arthur stared at the two, unsure of what to say. But they were expecting a response, and he finally asked, “Where am I?”

They stole a glance at each other, and then Raivis said, “You’re here.” He wrung his hands together and shrugged his small shoulders. "That's all that really matters." 

“What?” Arthur stared at him. "No, that's not all that matters. _Where_ am I?" 

Raivis flinched. The other boy wrapped an arm around him and frowned. "Hey, enough. Raivis doesn't know. Neither of us have been here for more than a month." 

"We move around a lot," Raivis mumbled, and his friend nodded. 

Arthur forced himself to relax. Getting mad at these boys wouldn't help. Ashamed at himself for snapping at them, he averted his eyes. "Right, I..." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just..." He trailed off, and the boys both nodded in understanding. 

"I'm Feliks," the other said. "What's your name?"

"Arthur," he replied, and tugged at the cuffs. "Why aren't you two chained up?" 

Feliks grinned without mirth. "Are you kidding? We've been around so long they don't bother." He crooked his left elbow and pointed to a small bump. "I dislocated my elbow the first time I tried to escape. That was, what, three years ago? I forget." 

Cold shock filled his chest. "Three _years_? How old are you?" 

Feliks shrugged his shoulders. "Seventeen? They don't really let you keep track in here." 

His stomach was rolling. These boys were too young. Much too young. "I see," he said, and shut his eyes. He didn't want to think about what the two had gone through. He couldn't help them now.

His only comfort was that he'd have the chance to save them. 

 

It wasn't long before Feliks fell asleep, and Raivis went to sit on his bed. Over Feliks' snoring, he heard Raivis mumbling prayers in a Slavic language. He didn't try to listen. Arthur was counting the minutes that passed, wishing there was a clock or a window so he could tell the time. _This could easily drive someone mad_ , he thought, shifting on the bed. He was ready to doze off himself when the door swung open.  

Boots clicked on the floor as a woman stepped into the room. Her platinum hair hung down to her waist, a stark contrast to the dark clothes she wore. She was someone dangerous and cold. Her eyes, sharper than daggers, pierced him. Arthur could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment. 

Raivis squeaked in fright. Her gaze swept over to him, and he cringed, almost falling off his bed. "Calm yourself," she ordered, and her familiar voice struck Arthur with shock. "I'm not here for you."

It was Arlovskaya. He doubted he'd forget the voice of the woman that drugged him earlier. 

She crossed over to his bed and stared down at him, impassive. Keeping his eyes on her hands as they moved, he watched one of them vanish into her coat pocket and produce a small key for the handcuffs.

“Do not run, or it will be the last thing your legs will do,” Arlovskaya threatened in a dead tone, and sent a chill down Arthur’s spine. The threat had done its job, though, as he didn’t move even after one hand was freed from the cuffs. Her hands guided the cuff to his other wrist and locked it in place. She jerked the chain, and he gritted his teeth as the metal dug into his already tender skin. 

“Hurry up,” the woman snapped, pulling Arthur off of the bed and onto his feet. He stumbled, but Arlovskaya didn’t care in the slightest. She dragged him towards the door, and Arthur looked back. Raivis was still cowering, and Feliks was awake, staring after him with his lips pressed into a grim line. The door was shut behind them and a lock clicked into place. 

They stood in a short hallway. There were similar doors to the one they'd just walked out of, and the lighting was hardly better here than it was in the room. It was cold, reminding Arthur of a basement. At the farthest end was an elevator, which Arlovskaya dragged him towards. After hitting the button – only one, pointing up – the doors slid open. She shoved him in first before following inside. 

Arlovskaya pulled out a different key from her pocket and stuck it in a hole beside the doors, twisting it and getting the numbered buttons to light up. She hit the fourth button, and the elevator jolted to life. There was a dull hum as they rose, going up and up, finally stopping at the second highest floor. 

He was led out rather painfully by the cuff chain and into a considerably nicer hallway. There was a long, rolled out rug on the hardwood floor, and the doors were no longer made of cheap metal but a sturdy oak. Despite the warm light on the walls, however, the place was anything but welcoming. 

The door Arlovskaya brought him to led into a doctor's office – from the sterile white walls and uncomfortable paper-covered examination table. It was as cold as the basement hallway, and Arthur stepped into it with incredible reluctance.  

“Wait in here,” she told him, leaving no room for argument in her few clipped and cold words. “Bonnefoy will be in to see you in a moment.” With that, the door was pulled shut and locked with a soft click.

Arthur stepped further into the room, looking around and knitting his brows together. It even smelled like a doctor’s office; all sterilized and too clean to be normal. Another reminder why he hated going to doctors' offices. The cleanliness was taken to unnatural levels. Again, there wasn't a window. He went over to the wall and rapped his knuckles against it in a few places, testing to see if they'd covered it with plaster. No such luck. 

The door to the room clicked open. Startled, Arthur turned around to face it. He watched as it slowly opened, and a pair of Italian leather shoes stepped into the room. 

Based on attire alone he doubted the man was an actual doctor. In fact, he looked more likely to have stepped off the pages of a men's fashion magazine. He was wearing dark purple pants— _purple_ , for fuck's sake—and had a matching ribbon holding back his lengthy hair. It was almost ridiculous. Had it not been for his situation, he _might_ have laughed. Arthur took a wary step back. 

The man spotted him, and of all things, he smiled. It sent a chill down Arthur's spine. He rolled up his sleeves, and beckoned for him to come over. "Sit," he said, gesturing with a hand at the examination table. Arthur didn't move. After a moment of the two staring each other down, the man sighed and tapped the examination table. "I  _know_ you speak English. So sit down." Impatience laced his words, and the dangerous undertone beneath them was what got Arthur to move his feet. He walked over to the table and sat down, keeping his wary gaze on the man. 

This had to be Bonnefoy. 

 

“Mm… Not very cooperative, are you?” the man drawled. “But I suppose that makes sense. You are in a strange new place, _non_?" The French caught Arthur off-guard. "And I can assure you that you are no longer in… Ah…” He tapped his chin, and then chuckled when he remembered: “London, correct? That is where you are from?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes and continued to be silent.

After giving him a good minute to respond, the man looked almost disappointed when Arthur didn’t say anything. “I have been to the United Kingdom many times, you know,” he said, taking up going around the examination table in a casual circle. “It's much too rainy for my taste. Dreary. Cold. I much prefer the lovely streets of Paris to that unsophisticated grotto.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Arthur chose again to stay silent. The man was trying to anger him on purpose. “What do you want?” he finally asked, keeping his voice level and controlled. 

“Oh? You do speak!” The man gasped in mock delight. “ _Merveilleux_! I was beginning to think we were sold a mute!” He came to a stop in front of Arthur once more and folded his arms in front of his chest. “But I would be more respectful. You aren’t exactly in a position that gives you a very good—” Trailing off, he stepped forward – once, twice, and then a third time, until he was right in front of the examination table. Finally, locking his eyes with Arthur, he finished in a whisper: “—advantage.”

There was a lump of dread in his throat. Alarm bells rang off in his head, leaving him unable to move or speak. It was a challenge even to breathe. 

“Despite what I have said about the United Kingdom,” he was almost purring out, “I'm actually quite fond of those from it. Especially the accent… Like yours, for example.” An amused smirk twitched the corners of his lips at the indignant look crossing Arthur's face, and added: “It doesn’t help that you aren’t too terrible to look at.”

More alarms. “Who the hell are you?” he asked, and cursed his damn mouth for acting on its own.

A coy, predatory grin slowly stretched across the man’s face. “My name is Francis Bonnefoy,” he answered, and then, he leaned forward to close the distance between them. “And I’m the man that’s going to break you in.”


	4. Taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains rape. It's not sugar-coated, nor fetishized. If that makes you uncomfortable, skipping the chapter is okay. Nothing would be missed plotwise if you did.

“Like bloody hell you are!” Arthur shouted in retort, unable to believe the words that had come from the man’s lips. Break him in? _Break him in?!_ There was no way in hell that he would allow that to happen. His outburst only seemed to amuse Francis, however, as he merely chuckled.

“You're very feisty, now, aren’t you?” He laughed once more after speaking, his airy voice mixed with a dangerous kind of sensuality. Arthur could feel all the color drain from his face. There was no way he could let this happen. He leaned back – only to realize that put him in a more vulnerable position, and instead scooted backwards on the examination table as best as he could.

“Stay away!” His cuffed hands clenched into fists and his legs scrambled to get some sort of footing, so that he could push himself further away from Francis. Unfortunately, there was nothing but air, the heels of his shoes clunking against the metal that was providing no sort of support at all. “I’m warning you!”

“Oh? A warning? How terrifying,” Francis purred, not threatened in the slightest. One of his knees bent upwards and braced against the edge of the table. His hands planted themselves on either side of Arthur. “As much as I love this feisty nature of yours, it would be appreciated if you calmed down. I wouldn’t want to get too _rough_ with you.”

Panic made Arthur’s heart skip. This was bad on an entirely new level. “Don’t you take a step closer!” he yelled, and pushed the man's chest with his bound hands. The force was enough to get Francis to jerk back – but it also caused Arthur to lose his balance and go toppling off the back of the examination table. He tried to catch himself with his hands, but they were useless while bound. The back of his head smacked the linoleum floor and he yelped in pain, vision going spotty. Yet even with his skull throbbing in agony and his sight completely unreliable, he moved to sit up on bruised elbows. He struggled and shifted, squirming on the floor.

His gaze shifted in time to see the pant legs of Francis advancing towards him. Without thinking Arthur tried to roll away – only to be caught by a firm and unrelenting hand on his shoulder, slapping him down onto his back on the floor once more. The action made his already aching body throb all the more, and he hissed in protest.

“ _Mon lapin_ , that was very stupid of you,” Francis chided, holding him down while he moved to straddle his waist.

“Go to hell!” Arthur snapped, and lifted both of his hands for a second time to swipe at him. “I'm not going to let you touch me! You bastard!” Fear was fueling his fight. He was  _not_ about to become a victim. He  _refused._  

“I am losing my patience with you," Francis warned with a none-too-patient smile. "Be quiet or I will make you wish you had been cooperative from the beginning.”

Arthur didn’t listen. In fact, he only fought fiercer than before. Eventually, he managed to free one of his legs, and quickly drew it up to his chest. Right after that, with all the force that he could muster, he kneed the man in the gut.

The air around them seemed to freeze. Arthur kept his knee buried in Francis’ stomach, his chest heaving from the panicked rush of adrenaline coursing through him. But it was the man's expression that kept him frozen in place. He was staring down at him with an expression of stone – unreadable and absolutely colder than ice. He had made a huge mistake.

Arthur didn’t even have time to compose himself when a fist struck the side of his face at full force. His head snapped to the side, ears ringing and his vision going white with abrupt, mind-numbing agony. In a daze, he was helpless as his consciousness struggled not to give out. Like a ragdoll, he found himself being flipped over onto his stomach and with his face pressed against the linoleum floor. His skin stuck to the cold surface.

“You are going to need to learn a few things here, _mon lapin_ ,” Francis spoke up, spitting out the endearment like it was an insult. His voice coated with venom – one that could be deadly.

“ _Un!_ ” Fingers curled around the waistband of Arthur’s jeans and the nails bit into the soft flesh of his hips as they passed. “Never disobey me.”

“ _Deux!_ Never struggle.” Those same hands yanked Arthur’s pants down, exposing his ass and thighs and getting him to hiss in shock. Arthur squirmed, only to feel those nails once more dig into his skin – this time on purpose, and they were so sharp that he could feel the sting as all ten of them drew little thin crescents of blood on his hips.

“And finally, the most important one… _Trois!_ ” One of Francis’s hands left his hip to instead bury itself in his thick blond hair. A sharp pain shot across his neck and scalp as his head was jerked backwards, forcing his head up. His eyes opened into narrow slits, watering from the pain overwhelming his senses, and the fabric rustled behind him as Francis leaned down to whisper into his ear:

“Never strike me.”

Arthur gritted his teeth so harshly together that his molars ground against each other. “You don’t scare me,” he lied between his teeth, his voice strained from the painful angle his neck was pulled.

“Oh? I don’t scare you at all?” His were thicker than honey. His hands moved to glide up the sides of his thighs, and eventually end up resting upon his waist. Arthur flinched at the contact. “Not even a little bit?” Francis asked, and his grip on his hips tightened.

“No,” Arthur lied again, his head falling back down and his cheek pressing to the cold floor.

A throaty chuckle left Francis, and it made him shiver. “Ah… That's too bad, isn’t it?” Arthur's legs were forced apart, and as cool air met his backside and privates, he tensed up. One of the hands on his waist vanished, and there was a clink as Francis undid his belt. Realization made the detective’s heart stop. A harsh hand pressed to the back of his neck and pinned him to the floor.

“ _Mon lapin_ , you know what’s coming, don’t you?” Francis was enjoying this. His belt was undone, and the rustling of fabric being pushed down soon followed after that. Terror filled Arthur to the brim. He wasn’t naïve. Spitting onto his palm, Francis sighed as he rubbed the makeshift lubricant onto his shaft. “If you had been more cooperative, this might have been pleasant for you.”

His hard tip pressed against Arthur’s asshole. No longer frozen with fear, he jolted, and yelped. “No!” He fought, squirming and gritting his teeth, nostrils flaring as he sucked air into his lungs. “Get off of me!”

There was an immense pressure on his ass, and then agonizing pain as Francis forced his cock inside.

 

It was an understatement to say that Arthur screamed.

All of the agony was trying to escape him through his throat. The feeling of something intruding was not uncomfortable – no, it was downright painful. The ring of muscles burned as they were stretched, and every inch Francis forced inside earned another cry torn from his throat. His body protested, pain rocketed through each and every nerve of his lower half. There was too much friction – god, god, _god_ , it hurt so bad!

“ _Mon dieu_ …!” Francis was hissing between what he presumed was gritted teeth, steadily sinking deeper and deeper into the Brit, practically having to lean his entire body weight down in order to get past the tensed and unyielding inner walls. The deeper he went, the more pain that went through the man below.

Arthur was shaking, reduced to biting down harshly on his bottom lip and nearly drawing blood in order to keep from screaming in pain all over again. He felt stretched beyond comprehension; it burned and it stung, it was all the worst kinds of pain that he had ever imagined. He couldn’t form a single thought amidst it all.

Barely could he hear the sound of Francis shakily exhaling, and then, the hand holding his neck down migrated up to his hair once more. “Ah… Had I known you were this tight… I might have broken you in a different way.” The words nearly made Arthur retch. “But I’m not about to complain.” A cry was nearly yanked from the bushy-browed young man as Francis started to draw back his hips a few inches. It felt as if part of him was being pulled out along with the man’s member. His insides were tearing, and it was excruciating to experience.

After what felt like an eternity, the Frenchman was halfway out of him. Heaving for breath and already sounding strained, Francis didn’t give any sort of warning at all before he thrust back inside and earned a high moan of pain. “You feel so good, mon lapin!” He exclaimed in a breathless tone, drawing his hips back and digging his fingernails into Arthur’s scalp. In response all that he got was another cry of pain as he thrust back in.

This continued. In and out, in and out, Francis continued to shallowly thrust. Each push back inside filled Arthur with nothing but pain. How could he endure this – how could anyone possibly endure this?! His body was being rocked with each plunge into his ass. His fingers were biting into the palms of his hands; it was all that he could think of doing as an attempt of enduring this violation – other than biting down on his tongue.

He barely noticed how the Frenchman was starting to tilt his hips at different angles. Well, at least, he didn’t notice until the man struck exactly what he had been searching for. A choked and mangled cry escaped Arthur as the head of Francis’s erection hit directly against his prostate.

“Look what I have found!” Francis stated gleefully in response to the way his insides had clenched around him, and began to hit Arthur's sensitive prostate, again and again and again. Each strike earned a crude yelp filled with pleasure and pain. And much to Arthur’s horror, he realized that he was growing hard. _No!_  The tingling and burning became more prominent between his legs as his manhood began to stand at attention from the stimulation. It was mortifying to think that he could possibly get turned on from this – especially from how much it _hurt._

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of it. Slender fingers wrapped around his aching length, and once more he choked. Francis had noticed he was hard. Now, he was starting to stroke, in a way that was making him tremble and gasp amidst the pain. Each caress up his shaft sent a mix of pleasure through his blood, and Arthur hissed as the occasional rough jerk of Francis' hand sent a wave of orgasmic sensations to overwhelm him.

Now it was all in unison. Each agonizing thrust into him was accompanied by a stroke of Francis’s hand, making it both a horrifying and pleasurable experience. Arthur hated himself, for he was feeling weak – from both the pain and the pleasure. He could hardly distinguish the two. Hoarse gasps and moans left his parted lips, mingling with the low grunts that Francis let out behind him. Everything was burning! He couldn’t handle this!

Arthur’s vision went spotty, and then white, as he met a shuddering climax. His seed spilled from the tip of his erection, splattering onto the floor and the Frenchman’s talented hand.

That seemed to do it for Francis. There were three more thrusts – Arthur could count each of them, even in his post-orgasm daze – before his insides were met with a new, liquid kind of burning that stung and heated him up completely in places that should never feel that way.

Francis took his time in emptying his load deep inside of the blond beneath him. It was only when the flow had subsided that he pulled his limp dick out of his ass with a wet pop. His hand untangled from Arthur’s hair, and his other drew away from his flaccid length. This allowed Arthur to sink fully onto the floor, pressing his cheek to the cool floor and struggling to breathe.

Arthur’s eyes had shut a long time ago. He could hardly form a coherent thought. All that he could do was listen and feel. Clothes rustled, shoes tapped, and then the sound of a zipper being drawn up told him that Francis had gotten to his feet to fix his trousers. The euphoria that came with orgasm was starting to subside, leaving him throbbing and in much more pain than he thought that he’d be able to tolerate. He couldn’t even push himself off of the ground, both due to the fact that his arms were pinned under his body and that he simply felt too leaden to even move.

He listened numbly as Francis’s footsteps moved away, going over to the door and unlocking it with an unhurried ease. The lock clicked as it was undone. The door creaked as it was pulled open, and for a moment, there was silence.

But then Francis spoke. “I will see you again, _mon lapin_.” A throaty chuckle sounded out soon after that, and then it was followed by the door being closed.

It was the last thing that Arthur heard before he blacked out.


	5. Memory

Drifting in and out of consciousness, Arthur didn't want to open his eyes. The bed springs dug into his back through the mattress. There was a lumpy pillow keeping his head propped up at an uncomfortable angle. There was no blanket, meaning the basement room was freezing. And once again, his hands were cuffed to the headboard. 

His ass hurt like hell. Even when he shifted in a vain attempt to get more comfortable, his body protested and ached with a fiery vengeance. A low groan escaped his lips. 

A part of him was angry. If he hadn’t volunteered, this wouldn’t have happened to him. But if he hadn't, then it very well would've be Alfred lying on the bed, handcuffed and close to tears from the ache. He didn't want to think about what happened to him — and he wanted to think about Alfred even less. 

There was a faint click and a creak of hinges. Frantic whispers came from the hall. 

"They dropped him off here and he hasn't said anything," Feliks said, the only one loud enough to understand. "He hasn't told us, but I think it was bad."

There was sniffling. Arthur assumed it was Raivis. The door opened all the way, and three sets of footsteps entered the room. One approached his bedside. Arthur didn't move, keeping his eyes shut and his body tense. The last thing he wanted was to talk to anyone about what happened to him. 

A gentle hand rested on Arthur's cheek without warning. He cringed away, gritting his teeth and grunting in protest. "Leave me _alone_." 

"No," a new voice said, and the sternness irritated him. "Let me take a look at you." 

"I said, don't touch me," Arthur snapped, and kicked the air at his bedside. The edge of his shoe brushed against the voice's owner, and he huffed. 

"Fine. We'll leave you alone," he said, and there was a soft squeak of shoes on concrete as the stranger walked away. 

* * *

_“Alfred, I have something very important that I would like to tell you.”_

_It was a Saturday night. A year passed since the two became partners. About an hour ago they'd gotten off a later shift. Ending up closer to Alfred's apartment than Arthur's, they decided that they could both stay at his place and Arthur sleep on the couch. Baring a bowl of microwave popcorn, Arthur stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. Alfred turned his attention away from the cheesy sci-fi movie playing on the TV. He scratched his chin and asked, "Yeah? What is it?"_

_Arthur sat down on the couch beside his friend. He took in a deep breath and said, “I'm gay.”_

_There was a crunch as Alfred bit down on a popcorn kernel. Arthur didn't turn to look at him. If he did, he was certain he'd vomit. His stare was burning a hole into the side of his head._

_"You're what?"_

_"Gay. As in I like men." Arthur cringed at his tone, not liking how defensive he sounded._

_He was glad he couldn't see Alfred's face. He didn't want to see how disgusted he probably was. At any moment, he'd demand Arthur leave, and then the next morning he'd get a call from his captain, with a partner transfer request, and—_

_"Okay."_

_Arthur whipped his head to look at Alfred, eyes wide. "I'm sorry?"_

_"Uh," Alfred looked a tad confused. "I said it's okay? I mean, unless this is some sort of love confession, then—"_

_"Oh,_ God _, no, Alfred!" Arthur's nose wrinkled in disgust. "You're like my brother."_

_"Oh, good," Alfred heaved a sigh of relief. "Because I'm totally straight."_

_A soft snort escaped Arthur. But then he rubbed the back of his neck. "So, you're really okay? About me being gay?"_

_Alfred grinned and nodded. "Of course," he said, "You're still the same ol' Artie." There was a pause, and then he nudged him with his elbow. "Plus this means I get all the hot ladies."_

_Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're utterly daft," he said, but relief was rolling over him in waves. That night he slept soundly, grateful to know that his partner and friend accepted him._  

* * *

When Arthur came to again, it was dark. He laid there, listening and waiting, for any sign of others being in the room. There was only silence. He opened his eyes. The lights were off, and the room was pitch black. His jeans were removed and replaced with unfitting sweats. His boxers were gone as well, and while he wasn't any less sore, he'd been cleaned up. He sighed and shifted, muscles aching in protest.

“You're awake.”

He almost jumped out of his skin. The voice had come from his right. He tried turning, only to be reminded of the cuffs by having them dig into his skin. He swore, and instead looked around. He still couldn't see, but someone was there. "Who's there? Who are you?" 

There was the sound of springs creaking as the stranger shifted. "Hold on," he said, and Arthur recognized the voice from before. A hand gripped his wrist, and there was a small click before the cuffs fell away. "There you go. Sorry for not doing it sooner. We weren't sure how you'd react to us stripping you, and, well..."

Arthur sat up as the stranger trailed off. He rubbed his wrists in turn, frowning at where the voice was coming from. "You didn't answer my question." 

"Oh right. It's Matt." 

"Arthur," he replied, and almost held his hand out. But then it hit him how stupid that would be, and instead put his hand on the mattress. "How long have you been here?"

"Only about an hour," Matt said, and the bed groaned as he shifted. "I didn't want you to wake up alone and have a panic attack." 

"Ah. Thanks, I suppose." Arthur drummed his fingers. The silence sat heavy and awkward between them. After a second he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for, um, kicking you earlier." 

"Don't worry about it. I've handled worse." 

The implications behind that weren't lost to him. Arthur wished the lights weren't off. "Why is it so dark?" 

"Everyone is  _supposed_ to be sleeping."

"Where's Feliks and—"

"Raivis," Matt finished for him. "They're out." 

Such a vague answer caused Arthur to sigh. He couldn't pry. Not while this man was being so forthcoming. Before he could ask anything else, however, Matt beat him to it. 

"Do you want to talk about what they did to you?"

In an instant, every muscle in Arthur's body went tense. "No," he responded curtly. "I don't."

"Fair enough," Matt said, although he sounded just as exasperated as before. "Anything else you want to ask me, then?" There was a soft drumming of fingers against legs. 

There were many questions Arthur wanted to ask. All of them perched at the tip of his tongue, clamoring to get out. He sucked in a breath. "Do you know where we are?" 

"Manhattan, probably." Fabric rustled as Matt shrugged. "That's only a guess, though. I haven't been outside in long time." 

"I see..." Arthur bounced his leg once. There were way more questions he wanted to ask. But Matt was starting to sound impatient. Given how he didn't want to alienate potential allies, he cleared his throat. "I guess that's all I needed to know." He laid back down, and listened again. Matt wasn't moving. Normally it would've been easy to remain awake until Matt fell asleep or got up. But his eyelids were heavy, and the next thing he knew, he was falling back into a fitful, nightmarish sleep. 

* * *

The stars were glimmering in the nighttime sky of New York. Francis Bonnefoy gazed at them through a large window that took up an entire wall of his office. His foot bobbed up and down, balanced on his opposite knee as he sat in his chair. His gaze switched focus from the dark sky to his vague reflection. It was hard to admire the beauty of nature when the horrid bags under his eyes were so distracting. The clock on the wall just chimed twice, and he was only on his third cup of coffee, nursing it in his hands.

He sighed. To be quite honest with himself, he was supposed to be working. Balancing numbers and figuring out which Swiss bank to route the money, etcetera. But the man from earlier — Arthur, he believed his name was — was stuck on his mind. There was something about that clipped accent and snippy attitude that was so intriguing. And he fought, too. Oh, yes, he had _fought._ A thrill went up his spine just from the memory of their struggle.

Of course, it was his own cockiness that made them not strap him up and let high-paying customers break him in.

He sipped at the cooling coffee. “Not the most attractive lamb of the flock… He’s good-looking, yes, but he definitely needs to get those dreadful brows of his plucked. But what he lacks in looks he definitely makes up for with spunk… I certainly wouldn’t mind having some one-on-one time with him again—”

A knock on his office door interrupted him. He blinked, the memories vanishing as quickly as they came, and he swiveled the chair around to face the doors. “Come in,” Francis called out.

The doors opened and in stepped Natalya, his disciplinary goddess. While the title was never one he said aloud, it might as well have been engraved on a plaque and hung up on her door. She helped hold the operation together; his right-hand in all business matters.

“Natalya,” he greeted with a smile. Her expression didn’t waver from his friendliness, as per usual. “I assume you’re here for the usual report?”

“Everyone is accounted for and all funds have been processed.” Her response was as cool as her eyes. “I need to know which bank to send them to and then I will be finished for the night.”

Francis hummed, setting aside his mug and pulling some of the papers on his desk closer to them. He hadn’t actually looked at any of the statements so far. “Play it safe and split the funds to two separate banks. Yao flagged one of our customers as a potential leak.” He didn't sound too worried, nor was he. It was a false alarm, but playing it safe never hurt. 

Natalya quirked a brow as she took the sheets from the desk. She scanned them, but didn’t comment. “Is that all?

“Ah… No, actually.” Francis opened one of his desk drawers and ran his fingers over the folders until he found the one he was looking for. The hastily scribbled ‘Arthur Grey’ on the flap stood out among the other faded names. “I’d like you to look further into that young man we decided to rent the other day.” He passed the folder along to the bemused woman. “Go over his background with a fine tooth comb – and when you’re finished, report anything you find back to me.”

“Of course, sir.” Natalya tucked both the sheets and the folder underneath her arm, and then started for the door. She only paused when Francis suddenly called out her name again.

“Keep this from the others. I’ll bring them into this if necessary, but keep this between us and your sources.”

He didn’t need a response after that, and he didn’t get one, because Natalya was a master of discrepancy – and that of which he admired her greatly for. As the doors were shut behind her, Francis turned his chair around again and stared out his window. In between his thumb and index finger was the thin driver’s license that had been on Arthur’s person when he was brought to them. He turned it over in his hand, frowning at his reflection before looking down at the shiny picture of the man he had brutally fucked not that long ago.

“I didn’t expect a man like you to capture my attention this easily,” Francis purred at the image, and his thumb ran slowly across the scowling face.

“Consider yourself my new hobby, Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very heavy revision! I also renamed the chapter.


	6. Price

Arthur was given only a few days to recover. The exact amount of days were unknown, as his watch had been left at the police precinct and not even his ‘roommates’ knew how time seemed to pass in this place. 

Amazingly enough, his ass did not throb and sting for nearly as long as he thought it would have. The physical pain there had tapered off into nothing a few hours after. But his head had hurt, and after throwing up once he mused that he had a small concussion. Sleeping as much as he did probably wasn’t the greatest thing, but he was too numb to care. 

At least he had Matt to talk to every now and then. 

He couldn’t imagine how he would be able to handle remaining another day in this place. How on earth did Matt stay sane? Then again, Matt wasn’t handcuffed to a bed most of the time. In fact, he and his other blond companions seemed to roam in and out whenever they pleased. Whether or not they were simply commuting to different areas of the building or sticking to just one part of it, however, he had yet to find out. 

His resting time was officially up when the door to the small room opened so abruptly that it bounced loudly off the wall. Arthur groaned, his tightly shut eyes protesting to the sudden stream of light that hit his face from the hall. “What the hell?” 

“It’s time for you to get off your fat date!” A vaguely familiar and accented voice called out, and Arthur forced one eye open. He recognized the voice, but not the man dressed in dark clothes and with a curly mop of sandy blond hair on his head. But it had been the man that had originally sedated him, and he immediately felt a pang of unease. 

The large, startlingly buff Australian walked over to Arthur’s bed and unlocked the handcuffs before yanking him to his feet. “Right, let’s get you moving before Bonnefoy gives me another earbashing.” He paused abruptly and wrinkled his nose. “You smell like a shithouse. Did Arlovskaya ever give you a change of clothes?” 

Despite the overwhelming urge to give an angry retort, Arthur gritted his teeth and held his tongue. He had heard more than enough from Matt about how to deal with these people.

_“Don’t talk too much – especially if they haven’t spoken to you first,” Matt had told him while their companion Feliks had snored softly in the other bed. “One of them – Thompson – isn’t afraid to knock you around a bit.”_

A sudden smack against the side of his head snapped Arthur out of his thoughts. “Oi! No blacking out!” 

This must be Thompson. 

With his ear now throbbing, Arthur was dragged from the room. The grip on his arm was so tight and constricting that no handcuffs were needed to keep him from trying to escape. He stumbled more than once as he was dragged along.

“Right, gotta get you somewhat cleaned up… Bonnefoy is gonna determine how much you’re worth, yeah? Can’t do that with you lookin’ and smelling like you slept in a shithouse.” 

Arthur tried to keep track of where he was being brought. But the lingering vertigo that came from not standing or moving overall for well over a day was making it hard to concentrate. Eventually they stopped in front of a door, and much like everywhere else in the place, it was locked from the outside. 

Much to his surprise, the room was full of showerheads. It reminded him of the showers at a gym or the precinct. Definitely not what he would have expected to find in this sort of place, but then he realized they had to find some way of keeping the ‘merchandise’ clean. 

Thompson shoved him inside. “Clean yourself and knock on the door when you’re finished.” 

Before Arthur could even ask where he’d get soap or shampoo, the door was being slammed shut, and he heard the soft yet audible click of the lock being set again. He frowned and reluctantly turned his attention to the showers. There were no walls or curtains dividing any of them; he was lucky that it was empty. Upon closer inspection, he could see a small plastic basket with cheap shampoo bottles and used bars of soap. 

He walked over to the container and crouched down to grab what he needed. There was a pubic hair on the first soap bar that he grabbed. _Disgusting._

As quickly as he could – which was actually rather fast given how he was no longer handcuffed – he stripped of his clothes and walked to the closest shower head. He tentatively turned the knob of it to test the spray, and jumped when it came down in an intense jet of freezing rain. “Son of a bitch!” He swore, stumbling back and shivering while he glared at the water. 

Praying that the only temperature wasn’t freezing, he inched his way around the path of the stream and turned the knob further. He touched the water with just his hand this time, and hissed angrily as it nearly burned his skin. 

_What was I expecting? For at least the water temperatures to be kind? Of course not._

After a minute of turning the knob back and forth, he settled on lukewarm. It was better than nothing. He stepped under the torrent and felt the water pressure bite at his skin, gritting his teeth yet determined to get this over with. Using the soap he washed himself as fast and thoroughly as he could. Days’ worth of sweat and grime were cleared away, and he felt considerably better by the time he moved on to his hair. 

He almost missed hearing the door open. The click of the lock coming undone had caused him to tense, and much to his dismay, he heard shoes clacking against the tiled floor of the shower room. 

“You have terrible taste in clothes, _mon lapin_ ,” a cool voice rang out. “Sweatpants _and_ a sweater? Did your mother not teach you how to dress?” 

Arthur could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing up, and the shower’s water was suddenly very, very cold. He knew that voice painfully well. In all honesty, he doubted that he would ever forget it. 

Humming a tune softly, Francis Bonnefoy walked around behind him, much too nonchalant for his liking. The Brit squeezed the bar of soap tightly in his grasp and felt it crumble a little, bits of it getting wedged beneath his fingernails. 

Fabric lightly rustled as his discarded clothes were turned over – presumably with the other man’s shoe. “Don’t waste the water, Arthur,” Francis airily chided, the smirk plain in his tone. “Either finish up or turn it off.” 

He did the latter. The shampoo had been all washed out of his hair by now, and as much as he wanted to stall, he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. Staring at the wall – which wasn’t even tiled like the floor, merely solid concrete – he steeled himself. “What do you want?” 

Francis let out a laugh. “I merely came to bring you a towel!” Sure enough a folded towel was tossed at him and landed against his shoulder, which he scrambled to catch. “Why must you be so defensive? You act as if I would attack you like some vulgar brute!” 

Quickly wrapping the towel around his waist, Arthur scowled but refused to turn around. “I have it. You can leave now.” 

The man was undeterred by his attitude. In fact, he sounded dangerously delighted when he spoke again. “You’re absolutely no fun at all, _mon lapin_!” Abruptly Arthur felt his hand on his shoulder, and he jolted, trying to jerk away. But he was spun around and practically slammed against the wall. 

Now he was staring Francis in the face. There was the faintest hint of stubble on his chin and a smirk on his lips. It reminded him of the grin he had seen the day before; predatory and waiting to gobble him up. “You know, I simply _adore_ your spunk,” he purred, sending a chill down Arthur’s spine. “It’s too bad our customers usually don’t.” 

“Fuck off,” Arthur retorted – only to be promptly slapped across the face. His head jerked slightly. Now his cheek stung and his eyes watered, but to his own relief, he hadn’t cried out. It hurt like a bitch, though.

There was still a smile on Francis’s face, but now it was cold and stony. He tutted the Brit, using the same hand that had slapped him to lightly pat his throbbing cheek. “Your manners need work.” 

_I’ll show you what needs work._ “Go fuck yourself.” 

“You have no idea how boring that sounds with you right in front of me.” Francis smirked broader as his face burned with indignant heat. “I feel the need to apologize for my brutish behavior the other day. I simply couldn’t help myself.” The hand on Arthur’s cheek traced down his chin and across his neck. 

Arthur gritted his teeth to bite back a retort.

“… You’re no fun when you decide to be quiet.” Francis ran his fingertips down his chest, gently at first – but then he dug his nails into the pale skin, earning a satisfying hiss as he raked red marks onto his front. “Much better.” 

“What do you want?!” Arthur had tried and failed not to speak, but he was growing anxious. He was vulnerable and it made him sick to his stomach to feel this way in front of the man. 

A low hum was all he got as Francis took his sweet time in coming up with an answer. 

“I want…” His hand spread over his heart, palm flat and fingertips apart. “… To see how much it will take before you break.”

* * *

Outside of Dunkin Donuts, Alfred sat at their usual table – alone. He stared somberly down at his coffee and small pile of breakfast food. Everything looked as delicious as it always did, but it just didn’t feel the same.

“Wish I had you here to lecture me on my cholesterol,” he muttered to the empty seat across from him. 

The anger he had felt towards his partner and friend had passed not even a day after he went off the radar. Neither of them had gone undercover without each other before. He didn’t like the feeling of uncertainty – or the helplessness. 

_What if he’s hurt?_ Alfred couldn’t keep those thoughts out of his head. _What if he’s dead? What if they figure him out? What if I never see him again? And the last time I saw him I acted like a douchebag!_

The hot coffee that he brought to his lips scalded him back to reality, if only briefly. 

“You better come back in one piece,” he grumbled to the chair. “Or I’m going to kick your ass.”

* * *

Arthur stared at the wall. It was pale – beige, probably – and had actual wooden paneling on the lower half. He had brought into this room not long ago, taken into the elevator and brought up to one of the higher floors. 

He might have known _which_ floor if he hadn’t been blindfolded. 

It was cold in the room. Not because of the overall temperature, but because he hadn’t been given any new clothes to wear and only had the towel for comfort. A part of him felt lucky that he was even given that small courtesy. 

He wiggled his toes absently. The carpet was plush and dark red. He might have laid down on it had he not been so tense and anxious. Sitting wasn’t an option, either, as the room was completely bare of any furniture. But there were hooks on the wall, and just looking at them made him uneasy. 

Outside the door was Thompson, and Francis had vanished not even a moment after tying the blindfold over his eyes. He had been left alone in here since. 

It had to have been ten minutes at the least. He wasn’t able to tell time without a clock, and that was irritating. Whatever it was that Francis intended to do, he wanted it to be done and over with. 

He heaved a sigh and rubbed at his upper arms, willing the goose pimples to go away. It was hard to maintain his dignity while shivering like this. “I’m going to kick his arse if I’m left like this for another minute…” 

It was a little over two minutes later that the door unlocked and Francis emerged. An immediate scowl crossed his face, and the other man took immediate notice. 

“You’re horribly easy to read, _mon lapin._ ” Francis shut the door behind him and it was locked again. He crossed the room in four long strides, standing in front of Arthur and examining him under the light. “Goodness, your eyebrows are in dreadful need of a plucking.” 

“Don’t even bother,” Arthur grumbled in retort. “They grow back twice as thick.” 

For a second Francis took that into consideration, mentally weighing the pros and the cons, along with the future dedication that upkeep will take. Eventually he decided it wasn’t worth it. “Fair enough.” 

He walked around Arthur, circling him a few times and only let out the subtlest of sounds to show his thoughts. It was needless to say that the Brit didn’t appreciate being treated like a slab of meat waiting for the butcher to divvy up. 

“You won’t be worth much if you don’t know what you’re doing…” Francis suddenly murmured aloud, rubbing his chin. “So you’ll need to earn some… _experience_ before we actually put you out.” 

Arthur felt his stomach turn over. 

He must have looked as disgusted as he felt, as when Francis next glanced at his face, he let out a chuckle. “Don’t worry. I’ll be training you personally, so I’m _certain_ you’ll enjoy it.” 

“I’m certain I’d enjoy snogging a cheese grater more,” Arthur quipped without thinking. Unfortunately, that was a very wrong thing to say. He watched nervously at Francis went from smiling coolly to smirking once again. 

“Oh, _mon lapin_ …” He murmured. “You make this all too easy.” 

 

Arthur’s eyes were screwed tightly shut. He trembled and felt his breath hitch, absolutely overwhelmed. 

He was up against the wall, and the towel was on the floor, discarded against his will. The chill that had bothered him before would have been welcomed at this point. Every inch of him felt hot and sweaty, with it being at its absolute worst between his legs. 

Francis was on his knees in front of him, hands holding his hips firmly in place as his tongue traced small circles over his navel. He was retreating back down – much to Arthur’s humiliation – and going back to the place he had been expertly attending before. 

A startled and reluctant gasp broke free when he felt hot lips wrap around the head of his member. He was helpless to the suckles that were slowly turning him into a puddle. His hands tugged, but the blindfold that had been used on him earlier was now being used to keep his hands tied to a hook. 

“No…” He moaned out for the umpteenth time, but just as before, Francis ignored him. Instead, he took in more than just the tip, and Arthur was left gasping all over again, the heat of his mouth sending a rush of pleasure through him. 

It felt incredible, and he hated himself for thinking that. 

His fingers curled and his nails dug into his palm. Francis was hardly working at him and it still felt as if he could burst at the seams. His tongue ran hot and wet against the bottom of his shaft, causing Arthur to let out a soft keen. 

It was a mixture of relief and frustration when Francis pulled back, his tongue now trailing down the inside of his thigh. Arthur wanted to squirm but those hands were strong and steadfast in holding him in place. 

Arthur gritted his teeth and tried to think of something else – again – in hopes that all this pleasure would stop. But it was almost impossible, and he gasped yet again when that tongue moved from his thigh to tease at his balls. 

He tried again to protest. “D-don’t…” It failed miserably when he trailed off into a low moan. 

“Don’t what, _mon lapin_?” Francis spoke against his sensitive sack and elicited a strong shiver from him. His accent was cruel and sinful to the ears, but damn it all, did it only add to the unwanted arousal he was feeling. 

Arthur wished that he could scowl, but all that his face could do was shamelessly contort in response to each and every little thing that Francis did to him. When his balls got their turn and were taken into his mouth, he dug his nails into his palm so fiercely that it stung. 

“You really are too easy.” Francis had pulled away after several impossibly amazing sucks and swirls of his tongue. He must have licked his lips, because they were wetter than before when they wrapped themselves once more around Arthur’s dick. 

It was impossible to keep holding on. Something in his stomach was coiling, and Arthur just _knew_ what it would lead to. He panted, desperate for it to stop and for it to keep going. The pleasure was awful yet amazing, and he hated it from the bottom of his being. 

He let out a strangled groan right before he came. If Francis had faltered, he hadn’t noticed, and could only wallow in his own afterglow and shame for the moments to come. The relief was conflicting. 

With a throaty laugh, Francis had pulled away from him entirely and stood up. He didn’t say another word. Arthur felt spent, but he was able to listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps. The door opened and shut, and just like that, he was left alone again.

* * *

Francis sat in his office, suckling on a few breath mints and staring absently out the large window. It had been years since he had sucked cock – let alone swallowed afterwards. He was almost surprised with himself, but then again, the chance had been much too tempting to turn down.

Now that Arthur knew how much pleasure he could receive if he cooperated, maybe he would be much less of a prickly porcupine. 

He sighed at his own wishful thinking. If it were that easy, he wouldn’t have taken interest in Arthur in the first place. “Not that I mind it at all,” he muttered, finishing his own thoughts aloud. He rolled the mints around in his mouth and pursed his lips. 

He would need to buy some more in the future. 

There was a knock on the door, and he swiveled the chair around to face it. “Come in,” he called out, and the door swung open. 

It was Natalya. She held a manila folder tucked under her arm, which she wordlessly dropped onto his desk the moment that she approached. He quirked a brow, perplexed, but picked it up. It only took opening it up and skimming through the contents for more confusion to muddle. 

“What is this?” There were hardly any papers inside. A few official-looking records and other papers were tucked inside, but other than that, there was absolutely nothing. 

“All government – and public – records that could be found on Arthur Grey.” 

Francis frowned and thumbed one of the papers out. It was a birth record that looked every single definition of official. Yet to find so little on him was definitely more than unusual. “This is all you could find?” 

“Yes, sir. We even delved into social media.”

“And there’s a missing person’s report?”

“No, sir. I contacted London’s police force and there is no report of anyone searching for an ‘Arthur Grey’.” 

Francis felt his frown deepen. “Interesting.” He looked at the birth certificate along with all the other documents. Graduation diplomas, school records – basically the barest bones of information. 

He tapped his fingertips against the surface of his desk. The gears slowly turned in his head. “If you can’t find anything on Arthur Grey…” He blinked as realization dawned on him. “Then he might not exist.” 

The blond sat up straighter and snapped the folder shut. “Run a background check on Opperman. I need to find out who he’s done business with and how he heard of us. Go over every bit of his background with a fine-tooth comb.” 

As Natalya nodded and left, undoubtedly to do what her boss had just ordered, Francis turned his chair around again to face the window. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Arthur Grey’s license. 

For a long moment, he stared at the laminated and faintly scowling photograph. One of the mints caught between his teeth and he bit down, crushing what was left of it into dust. 

His business was impenetrable; flawless. 

If there was a leak, he absolutely would _not_ stand for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the wait! Life is hectic, so I had to wait until I actually had time to sit down and actually finish this chapter! 
> 
> Here's hoping I'll have time for more!


	7. Realization

After being given new clothes, Arthur was blindfolded a second time and brought back to the bunking room. Only once they reached it was the fabric pulled off. The brief light that illuminated the room showed that Raivis was already there and lying in his bed. The younger boy cringed as the light shone on his face but didn’t move to get up. 

Thompson shoved him inside and over to the bed, where he was pushed towards the bed, told to “lie down like a good boy” and then promptly had the door slammed shut behind him. 

He scowled in the pitch darkness and stumbled closer to the bed, only knowing that he reached it when the bedframe knocked against his knees. Sitting down and feeling the springs creak, he frowned. This had to be the first time that he _wasn’t_ handcuffed to the bed – and he wanted to take advantage to that. 

Counting in his head in order to keep track of the seconds passed, he waited until he reached three hundred and seventy-two before he got up again. Once more the bed creaked, and as he shuffled forward to find the door, he heard Raivis shift.

He patted the walls and felt around for the doorknob. It was so dark in here that it felt finding the door would be an impossible task. But eventually, his fingers brushed against the hinges, and he used that as a guideline to find the rest of the door. 

As the handle turned, he heard Raivis speak up. 

“Y-you’re not supposed to leave unless you have a customer.” He sounded confused and mildly worried – or was it frightened? Arthur couldn’t tell. 

He turned his head and tried to look for the boy in the darkness, but to no avail. A sigh escaped him. “I’m not waiting around long enough to get any.” Silence. “I promise I’ll help get you and everyone else out of here. Just trust me, okay?” 

Again, he didn’t get a response. 

He focused back on the door, opening it up and slipping out into the hall. 

The hallway was empty, and he was grateful for that. But he didn’t linger, instead moving towards the closest door in hopes of finding an exit. However, he heard voices on the other side, and pressed an ear against the wood to listen in. 

“… hear what they did to Mei?” 

“I think they broke both of her legs.” 

“At least they didn’t kill her!”

“I don’t know what she was thinking. Trying to run like that could get you killed.” 

“Poor Mei didn’t think she’d be caught.” 

Arthur pulled away from the door. _Mei must be the girl we saw them pick up the other day._ His heart clenched with sympathy and frustration. _If only Alfred and I had gotten there sooner…_

He continued on down the hall. The number of doors was fewer than he had imagined. It had to be due to the face that this was similar to a residential hall. _Meaning this could look like a regular apartment complex from the outside._ He mused. _Or an office building._

Eventually he made it towards the elevator and moved to press the button. But then he heard the faint whirring of the motor from behind the sliding doors, and he panicked. Someone was in the elevator and on their way down. 

With no time to think, he vaulted for the nearest door and grabbed the knob. It was unlocked, and he flung himself into the darkness inside. His knees bumped into mops and brooms, and his elbow nearly knocked a shelf full of cleaning supplies to the ground. 

Taking in short and quick breaths, he leaned against the door, ears straining to listen. Sure enough, he heard the doors of the elevator slide open, and two pairs of voices drift out into the hall. 

“… should be back in business within a week. The bruises won’t fade for a few weeks at best, though.”

“Damn. We’ll have to lower her price or something. Boss won’t be happy about that, yeah?” 

One was Thompson, and the other had to be the man that had picked him up when he was dropped off – Wang or something. Arthur frowned before realizing that the two had to be talking about Mei again. He pitied the poor girl. On top of escaping and getting captured, it sounded like she had gone through hell once she was brought back.

Something inside his head clicked.

 _She got out._

He wanted to smack himself for not thinking of it sooner. Now that he knew Mei was alive, he had to speak to her and find out how she got out of here in the first place! He would need an escape route to use once he got enough information on Francis and some of the other lackeys. Talking to Mei now before he lost his chance was now a top priority. 

He waited in the closet for a few more minutes before he opened the door a crack. The hallway was empty. It seemed like now or never. 

Arthur slowly opened the door completely, stepping out and hurrying over to the elevator. He pressed the button and waited anxiously. There was no ding when the doors slid open. Quickly he jumped inside and tried to remember which floor he had been brought to for the examination the day prior. 

_Was it the third? The fifth? No, wait, it was the fourth._ He pressed the hopefully right button and watched the doors glide shut. 

When the elevator stopped on the fourth floor, he quickly peered around the doorway to look into the hall. Again, no one; so he went out and hurriedly headed down the halls. Most of the doors that he tried were locked – and that came as no surprise, given how easy it could be to fake being sick and then escape that way. 

It was around the ninth or tenth door that he tried before he finally found one that wasn’t locked. He turned the knob cautiously and peeked inside. 

The room was dark, with only a single small lamp in the corner to illuminate anything. He felt around for a light switch and tested it out, only to find that it didn’t work. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. 

His eyes were adjusting, and within moments he noticed that there was a figure resting on a low cot beside the lamp. Cautious and wary, he stepped closer until he was able to get a better look. It looked like a girl, and she was bandaged heavily, with the most visible ones on her arms and wrapped around the top half of her head, covering one eye. The other appeared to be swollen shut.

Crouching down beside her, Arthur stared solemnly at her beaten up face. Now he could see why this door was unlocked. “Hello, Mei.” 

The girl stirred at the sound of her name. A soft groan of pain escaped her, and Arthur wondered how much pain she was in, since it didn’t look like she was on pain killers. She could barely open the one eye that wasn’t covered by bandages. 

Arthur didn’t know what to say for a moment. Abruptly asking her how she escaped didn’t seem appropriate, so he cleared his throat and murmured: “Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you.” 

“Who…” She barely sounded able to speak. “Who are you?” 

He hesitated, weighing the risks of telling her his name. If she mentioned him to Thompson or Arlovskaya, he could end up being the next person lying barely conscious on a cot. “A friend,” he eventually answered and mustered a smile – although he doubted she could see it. 

From what little facial expression she could make, she looked doubtful. But she didn’t say anything else, so he continued. “So I heard that you got out of here…”

No reaction. Unless it was one so subtle he didn’t catch it in the low light of the room.

“I came here to ask you how you managed to do that.”

At this, Mei looked visibly distraught. “C-can’t tell anyone…” She whispered hoarsely. “I-if I tell… Arlovskaya will… will…” She trailed off, too frightened to continue, and shook her head several times. 

Arthur felt horrible for the girl. He wished that he wasn’t putting her through this, but he _had_ to know. “Please, Mei. You have to tell me. I…” He gritted his teeth, took in a deep breath, and continued in a low voice: “I’m a detective. I’ve gone undercover to stop all of this.” Despite the confused and conflicted look now appearing on Mei’s face, he rushed on: “I can help you, Mei. I promise that I’ll get you out of here so that you can go home.” 

“Home…”

“Yes, home! All you have to do is trust me, Mei, and tell me how you escaped.” 

There was a long, long silence. Arthur could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he waited. All cards were on the table; she could either trust him or rat him out now. This could be all over if she decided not to believe him. 

“Okay.” 

Arthur almost felt his heart stop from sheer relief. 

She took in a raspy and shaky breath. “I was brought to a hotel and… I knocked out my customer with a lamp. I went out the window and climbed over to the fire escape. I made… made my way down and ran.” Tears were budding in the corner of her swollen eye, trickling down her cheek. “I almost got away. I saw… I saw police and I almost got away…” 

Arthur reached out and took Mei’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Mei.” 

He couldn’t save her before. But now that he knew how she escaped and almost got away, he would be able to make sure he succeeded the second time.

* * *

Tim Opperman was no fool.

He was a paranoid man by nature. He had to be, really, now that he was working for the police. It would be hard to get customers if they knew who he really worked for. So of course he was constantly aware of where he was, who was with him, and what they were doing.

Naturally, he knew something was up when the same man followed him from the coffee shop and into the subway. 

Leaving the coffee shop hadn’t raised an alarm bells. He passed a blonde woman browsing one of the newspaper stands outside and pulled out his phone. After checking the date and seeing that he had no new messages during the time he spent drinking his daily brew, he closed it. Right as he had turned the corner, however, was when he saw the man. 

He had stood in front of him in the line for coffee, and Tim Opperman didn’t forget a face. 

He didn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know that the man was there. He had seen his silhouette in the bumper of a taxi he walked past before heading down into the station. But he didn’t alter his movements. His subway pass was swiped, he went through the revolving bars, and descended down the stairs to catch his train. 

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he nervously gripped his lighter and pack of smokes. If it weren’t for those damned ‘no smoking’ signs hanging inches from his face, he might have pulled one out. The problem was that the cops stationed down here were so bored that they’d usually bring you in for the most minor offence. 

The cigarettes stayed in his pocket. 

He pretended to look up at the train route signs, even though he had them memorized to heart. But in reality, he was checking around him to make sure that man was still there.

Upon seeing the stranger standing not even ten feet away behind a pillar, his heart skipped. 

But he was no fool. All he had to do was stay in the crowds and catch a taxi to drop him off at an old dealer friend’s place. No way would he lead some stalker back to his own apartment. 

He boarded the next train that showed up, thanking God that it was the right one and that he didn’t have to wait a minute longer in the station. Retreating to his usual corner, he watched the doors and waited for the man to step inside. 

Much to his surprise and soon relief, his stalker didn’t board. 

He raked a hand through his spiked hair and let out a sigh. All this paranoia was going to kill him someday. All the smoking that he did probably didn’t help. _Maybe I should quit._

The doors of the compartment shut and the train started to roll on the tracks. He grabbed one of the dangling handles above him and held on with his left hand. The woman beside him shifted and almost stumbled against him thanks to a heavy jolt against the tracks. Part of her purse dug into his back and wasn’t moved away. “Shit, lady, could you—”

“Do not speak loud or I will shoot.” 

Tim froze. That was no purse jabbing at his back. 

Frantically his mind scrambled to think of a solution, and he caught a better look at her from the corner of his eye. She was short and wore a dark coat with similar sunglasses; her hair, however, was long and blonde. It clicked then. He had seen her outside of the coffee shop. 

_Shit._

“… What do you want?” He asked her lowly, trying to remain calm. 

“Information.” She answered coldly. “Tell me how you found out about our ring.” The gun pressed harder against his back. “And do not lie. I will know.” 

A cold sweat was gathering on the back of his neck. He knew he shouldn’t have taken that job. The pay had been good, but getting involved with prostitution rings was never a smart idea. It had to end poorly – and in this case, it looked as if it might. 

“Cops hired me,” Tim answered after a moment. “Gave me the place and time. I only had to pose as the guy selling and that’s it.” 

The woman said nothing. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it would burst. If he didn’t get shot, an oncoming heart attack would definitely end him at this rate. 

Abruptly, the pressure of the gun was gone. 

“I thank you for your cooperation.” 

Tim’s shoulders slumped with relief, and as he opened his mouth to breathe a sigh of relief, a loud bang deafened the entire train compartment. 

A hole in head and half his brains splattered against the train’s inner wall, Tim dropped like a bag of wet sand onto the floor. Screams and chaos erupted in the compartment, and when the doors to the next station opened, Natalya vanished into the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so I did have time to write another chapter! This is certainly a first for me. 
> 
> But I think I should take a moment to say that wow, I got a lot of encouragement from all the kudos I received - and a comment that I got not even two days ago. 
> 
> Seriously, guys. Leaving comments does so much for writers. If you left even a small one, it would do loads for my motivation. I'm excited to hear what you guys think about the story, after all!


	8. Comply

Arthur pulled the door shut behind him with a soft click. The contrasting darkness of the room and the hall he had just left made his eyes ache. After meeting with Mei, he made it back to the room without incident.

There was a creak as someone got up from their bed. “You made it back!” It was Feliks, sounding shocked. Raivis must have told him.

“Of course,” Arthur grumbled distractedly, and went for his bed. “I didn’t go far.” He knocked his knee into the edge and swore softly before sitting down. But the pain was dull, and he was far too immersed in his thoughts to really care about the bruise that would form.

He had a way out. It was an extremely dangerous way out, but it was a way out nonetheless. There was, however, one problem with it.

He needed to be brought to a customer.

* * *

This time Arthur was given only two days to hatch a plan. It involved him being sickeningly compliant, but he knew that he needed to set it in motion so when the time came to escape, he would have a way.

But he didn’t like his plan. Not in the slightest.

When Thompson came to get him, Arthur didn’t fight or snap an angry retort to his jabs. The difference was striking, as Thompson was quick to comment on it.

“Did you finally pussy out?” He snorted with disdain. “Knew it wouldn’t last. The fighters claim they won’t break, but then they do.”

Arthur boiled inside but kept his mouth clamped shut.

He was dragged through the halls in the same rough manner, only this time he didn’t stumble over his feet. They went to the elevator, only instead of going to the fourth floor, they went to the fifth, and Arthur was greeted by an entirely different level of the building.

There were exactly five doors. Two on each side and one at the very end. Arthur wasn’t sure what all the rooms in this building could possibly be for, but for these, he had a hunch that they were the more important ones.

Thompson led him to the very first door on the left, unlocking it with a tiny key and pushing him inside. Of course, Arthur wasn’t alone.

Sitting on the chaise lounge beside the window was Francis. Up until he entered, he had been holding the curtain aside and staring out. He then let the curtain fall back into place and looked over to Arthur, a grin melting onto his face. “It’s good to see you, _mon lapin_.”

A silence drew out. After around thirty seconds passed – Arthur counted each one – a frown appeared. “Nothing?” Francis sat up further and leaned forward onto his knees. “Not even a scowl? _Mon lapin_ , you’re an absolute _tease_.”

He snapped his fingers and gestured for Thompson to leave. There was a grunt, and the door shut behind Arthur with a soft click.

Francis wove his fingers together and stared at him. “Are you just going to stand there?”

“That’s the plan,” Arthur muttered, and cringed a second after. He broke his vow of silence. Francis smirked for a moment.

“As much as I would love to play this game with you,” Francis went on. “I’m on a _very_ tight schedule today. So…” He patted the space beside him and looked Arthur in the eye as he ordered: “Sit.”

Arthur detested the condescending tone. He knew Francis was fully expected him to argue, to spit in his face and flat-out refuse to comply.

And that was why he did the exact opposite. He walked over, stiff and rigid, and sat down beside Francis. The other man was, with reason, quiet for a moment.

But then he hummed, low and from deep in his throat. It was thoughtful, and it caused a shiver to crawl up Arthur’s spine.

“I’m not sure whether I like this… _obedient_ side of you or not,” Francis mused, and he leaned closer to Arthur, who stiffened. He could smell the musky cologne dabbed under his ears.

For a long moment Francis merely gazed at him, his intense gaze piercing into him and searching for _something_. Arthur didn’t know he was holding his breath until Francis finally sat back and he let it all out in an inaudible whoosh.

“You’re up to something, aren’t you, _mon lapin_?”

Arthur nearly choked. He shot a glance at Francis, who was now frowning in a curious manner and balancing his chin on his hand. “What the hell could I possibly be up to?” He retorted weakly, hoping that his words sounded more convincing to Francis than they did to himself.

“An interesting question.” Francis tapped a finger against his cheek before dropping his hand back down. “But you wouldn’t be this compliant unless you _wanted_ something.”

Arthur said nothing. He couldn’t. His heart beat like a drum in his ear, and his tongue sat thick in his mouth, too much so for him to speak.

It was impossible to tell what Francis was thinking. There wasn’t even the barest hint in his eyes. Not even through his training as a detective could Arthur figure it out.

“Well,” Francis broke the silence abruptly. “I wont complain.” Something flickered in his eyes, and Arthur could have sworn it was amusement. “I came here to teach you, and I suppose I should take advantage of this.

“Strip.”

That got Arthur to recoil. Francis chuckled heartily, grabbing the front of his shirt and keeping him on the sofa. “ _There’s_ the Arthur I know. Now, strip for me, unless you’d rather I leave you with nothing but shreds to put back on later.”

Arthur gritted his teeth. His brow twitched, and his hands were itching to punch Francis in the face. But he couldn’t. His entire plan would be ruined beyond repair if he did. Thus, with his eyes narrowed angrily, he began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

The navy fabric was shrugged off, and Arthur pushed it to the farther end of the lounger. But right as he went to unbutton his pants, he was stopped by a hand on his wrist. Francis wagged a finger in his face. “You must do it slower. Give me something to look forward to.”

A scowl turned down Arthur’s lips. Francis, in return, smirked. Again there was silence as the two stared at each other, unwavering. It was Arthur that looked away first – with great reluctance – and went back to undoing the button of his jeans.

“Good,” Francis purred, sitting back and watching with smug satisfaction as Arthur stood to remove his pants. He enjoyed taking in his physique for once. Arthur wasn’t what one would call slender, but he wasn’t large. There _were_ muscles, however; they simply weren’t defined.

Despite his otherwise unreadable expression, it was easy to tell the sight pleased him.

It wasn’t long before Arthur stood in front of him, stark naked and with an angrily flushed face. Francis kept up his grin, although it faltered when his gaze traversed down to his groin.

“We’ll need to work on your exhibitionist kink,” he commented with a chuckle, leaning forward and watching in great satisfaction when Arthur tensed. His fingertips ghosted over his hip, and his grin melted back into a smirk as goosebumps rose in return.

Arthur said nothing, resorting to biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something he would regret. But as Francis’ hands stopped merely tracing and began to full-on caress him, it became increasingly harder to do.

“In case you weren’t aware,” Francis murmured, and pressed his mouth to Arthur’s stomach. Against his lips, his chest rose slightly with a sharp intake of breath. “This is your first lesson.”

* * *

The station was buzzing, but to Alfred it was all white noise. He flipped through the pages of the report he needed to fill out, still unable to muster the motivation – or interest – to do so. Accidentally shooting a suspect was not something a detective was supposed to do. It was a stupid mistake. Hell, a rookie one, even.

Without Arthur around, he seemed to be making a lot of those.

Swearing loudly, Alfred slapped the folder closed and leaned back in his chair. He peered across the room, looking into his captain’s office through the door’s window. She was arguing with the lawyer of some politician they managed to step toes on. Hopefully it wasn’t something to do with the perp he shot.

Alfred turned his attention back to his desk and sighed. It’d been nearly two weeks, and not a word from Arthur. Both Elizabeta and that Beilschmidt narcotics chief told him this wasn’t out of the ordinary, and that it could be well over a month before they actually heard anything – probably even longer given what Arthur was undercover as.

_A prostitute. I let my partner go undercover as a prostitute._

Guilt was eating his nerves raw. It was a risky operation, too damn risky for Arthur to go in alone. Yet here he was, sitting across his partner’s empty desk and completely clueless as to what was happening to him. Alfred tapped his pen angrily against the edge of the table.

“Detective Jones?” One of the new interns – a pretty blond from the Midwest – came up to him, phone in hand. “You have a call on line seven. Calls himself ‘Carlos’ and says he has information on a case.”

Alfred sat up and nodded to her. “Thanks. I’ll grab it.” He reached over to pick up the phone, and hoped – desperately – that he could be given something to take his mind off of Arthur.

But a call from homicide about the death of the man who had last seen Arthur alive was not news he wanted.

* * *

Ragged panting and sharp gasps filled the room. The chaise lounge creaked against the wood floor, sounding in rhythm with each skin-on-skin slap. Arthur was bent over the arm, clutching desperately to the edge and trying his hardest to suppress his gasps of pleasure. But he was failing, and miserably at that.

Francis leaned over him, holding him in place with one hand on his hip, and the other on his shoulder, keeping himself steady. Sweat dripped down the side of his face, short and hot breaths escaping his barely parted lips. He thrust into Arthur relentlessly, basking in the sounds that slipped free.

He wanted to fuck Arthur since he walked in on him in the shower. This was nothing like that first time. Now he had the man writhing and gasping beneath him – and it was _so_ satisfying.

A jolt of pleasure rushed through Arthur each time Francis thrust back in, leaving him gripping the arm so tightly that the fabric could tear at any moment. He tried gritting his teeth, balling his hands into fists, but nothing worked. There was nothing that helped him cope with the pleasure.

He tried to fight it. He really had. But Francis knew what he was doing.

Nails bit into his hips and he suddenly hissed, the pain mixing with the pleasure. Francis chuckled breathlessly behind him, and Arthur nearly bit off his tongue trying not to moan after hearing it. That normally infuriating laugh of his was now sending a rush of heat across his body.

Arthur despised it.

But even as he thought that in the very back of his mind, pleasure was numbing him over, and he knew he was slipping towards the edge. What had started as a slow buildup was now turning into an avalanche he was desperately trying to outrun. It caught up to him swiftly, however, and Arthur came undone, arching his back as a choked cry fell from his lips. His seed spattered onto the cushion beneath him.

Francis followed shortly afterwards, with a hitched intake of breath and a long, soft groan. He came deep inside, the sticky warmth filling up Arthur in a way that made him shudder.

He pulled out before he was fully flaccid, breathing heavily and pulling his hand off his hip. But the one on his shoulder remained, leaving Arthur pinned against the lounger’s arm. He didn’t bother to move at first, but after a few moments, he tried to shift. The angle he was forced into was growing steadily more uncomfortable.

What was worse was that he could feel Francis’ stare on his back.

“You enjoyed it.”

The words were like a hot knife stabbed into his gullet. Arthur jerked, attempting to sit up only to be held firmly in place. The hand on his shoulder pressed into his skin. “Like hell I did,” he retorted, craning his neck to look back at Francis. “Get off me.”

“Not until you say it, _mon lapin_.” Francis’ voice was dripping with satisfaction thick as honey. “Admit it. You were enjoying yourself.”

“ _No,_ ” Arthur spat, and he heard Francis laugh. It was mocking – and it practically sang that he _knew_ he was lying.

“Your ass welcomed my cock like a lover, Arthur.” The sensual purr made Arthur flush with indignation, and he once again struggled in vain to sit up. “And those _sounds_ you let out were absolutely _delicious._ ”

Arthur didn’t notice when he started to tremble. “You can fuck off straight to hell!”

“Oh, _mon lapin,_ your denial would be cute if I had more patience.”

“I didn’t enjoy it,” Arthur choked out, and when his voice cracked, he cringed. “I didn’t.”

The only response Arthur got was another soft laugh. Then the pressure on his shoulder eased, and Francis got to his feet. He zipped up his pants, then scooped up Arthur’s clothes from the floor. He tossed them onto the cushion beside him.

“Your endurance is going to need work,” Francis went on to say as he straightened his clothes. “We’ll need to dedicate more time to this. Maybe tomorrow.” He glanced at Arthur, a small smile on his lips. “Do make sure you’ve cleaned up. I wouldn’t want any… unpleasant surprises.”

The door clicked softly when he left.

Arthur sat there for a long time, staring at his clothes and waiting for his hands to stop shaking. He didn’t know what made him feel sicker. The fact that this was going to repeat tomorrow, or that he really _had_ been lying to Francis.

That he had enjoyed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well look. I finally updated. 
> 
> I guess I could give some long-winded apology and explanation as to why I haven't updated in months. 
> 
> But the short and simple answer is: college keeps me busy. 
> 
> I've finally managed to find a balance, however, between school and work, that leaves me with the free time to write. 
> 
> So yes. I'm back (hopefully) and partially thanks to all the comments I've received. Thanks, guys!


	9. Exempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, US fans! And to non-US readers, have an update on me-- 
> 
> Man, I'm on a ROLL.

Captain Hedervary stared down at the slab, and her lips folded together into a solemn line. “That’s Tim.”

She and Alfred were called in by homicide to confirm the identity of a body in a murder investigation. Much to both of their shock and dread, it was indeed Tim Opperman. “Do you know what happened?” Elizabeta asked, looking over at the detective in charge of the case.

“Shot point-blank in the side of the head. He died instantly. Eye-witnesses never got a good look at the perp’s face.” Carlos adjusted his tie with a sigh. “No idea on motive yet. Your pal really had a bad narcotics rep, so the suspect list is long.”

Alfred stood in silence, staring down at the corpse on the slab. The coroner did a good job in putting back together Tim’s skull and cleaning up any blood left over. But there was no hiding the round bullet hole on the side of his head.

“Did you find the bullet?” He heard his captain ask.

“Yeah. Nine millimeter. But we suspect the gun used was an unregistered CZ75.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeta murmured, watching as the coroner pulled a sheet up and covered Tim’s lifeless face. She then added something about putting in a request for case updates and swiftly walked out of the room.

Alfred didn’t stop her. It was always hard seeing someone you knew on the slab. He didn’t know Tim well, but clearly he’d been a reliable informant for Elizabeta over the past few years.

He turned to Carlos and shook his hand. “Thanks for giving me the call.”

“Hey, anytime,” Carlos replied with a wry grin. The two of them went back several years. Carlos had been Matthew’s best friend since kindergarten, and one of the last people, aside from Alfred, to give up on him after he disappeared. They both went to the police academy, but ended up in different units. It worked out for the best; Alfred heard he was one of their best detectives in years.

“You know, I’m probably the only guy in homicide that knows about your undercover case. I didn’t realize that your way-man and the victim were the same guy at first.”

“We were supposed to get an update tomorrow on how they were ‘paying.’ Guess we don’t have to worry about that now.” Alfred shrugged one shoulder and glanced at the slab again.

There was a moment of silence. Then, Carlos rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh… I know you’re not supposed to talk about the case, but…” He hesitated. “Have you heard anything about… Matthew?”

Alfred’s jaw tensed. “No. Nothing.”

“I see. Sorry for—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alfred waved a hand at him. “I’ll let you know if I do, though.”

“Okay. And tell your captain I’ll keep her updated on the case. If it’s in anyway related to your undercover op, you guys will be the first to know.”

“Thanks Carlos.”

Alfred walked out of the morgue to find Elizabeta finishing up a phone call in the hallway. Just from the tense frown on her face he knew whatever it was wasn’t good. She glanced over at him as she stuck her phone in her pocket.

“You think the ring found out,” Alfred stated, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. His captain nodded, and he swore softly. “Shit. And we have no other updates on Arthur?”

“Tim was supposed to arrange one of our other detectives to go in as a customer at their next meeting.” Elizabeta couldn’t stop shooting looks at the morgue. “So our only hope of contact is dead.”

“Please tell me there isn’t more bad news.”

“I called homicide to ask if any other unidentified bodies have turned up in the past day or so. None matched Arthur’s description.”

“So he’s still alive?” Alfred didn’t even try to hold back the desperation in his tone. He couldn’t forgive himself if he lost Arthur. Not after the way he had left things.

Elizabeta gave a terse nod. “We can assume so. I’ve got them on the look-out, however, just in case.”

“Great,” he muttered, and frowned. That still didn’t leave them with many options. “What are we supposed to do? If they know that we planted someone in their ring, it’ll be a total witch hunt. We need to meet with Arthur so we can find a way to get him out of there.”

“I know.” Elizabeta ran a hand over the top of her head, smoothing a few flyaway hairs, and shut her eyes to concentrate. “We didn’t plan for this. But we’ll adapt and figure this out, Alfred. I promise.”

“We better,” Alfred replied, fixing his glasses and looking at the morgue’s door. “Or it’ll be Artie we’ll be called in to identify next.”

* * *

When Arthur was finally brought back to the room, he was greeted with the sound of Raivis sobbing. The light from the door briefly shone on his bed, showing the young teen curled up and hiccupping against Feliks’ leg. The older blond was gently shushing him, only stopping when he looked up and saw Thompson standing right behind Arthur.

“Is he alright?” Arthur asked as he entered the room, knitting his brows together and crouching beside the bed. The last of the light disappeared as Thompson shut the door.

“No,” Feliks snapped in the dark. There was a barely contained fury in his tone that startled Arthur. “Some total asshole tried to strangle him. Like, put his hands on his neck and everything!” A muffled sob came from Raivis, and then the shushing momentarily resumed.

Arthur was speechless, but it didn’t take him long to scowl. “What happened to the customer?!”

“Arlovskaya heard Raivis screaming, and then she came in.” Feliks huffed. “She kicked his ass, but like, didn’t ban him. I’m so pissed at her.”

Raivis sniffled, and Arthur heard him start to sit up. “S-she didn’t have to step in, Feliks… I-I’m just glad that she stopped him b-before…”

“Me too, Raivis. I don’t know who else I’d be able to bitch at without you around.”

A wet laugh escaped Raivis. Arthur stood back up, only to hesitate before heading over to his own bed. “Why did the customer try to strangle you?”

“H-he said I wasn’t going fast enough,” Raivis responded meekly, and there was a disgusted noise from Feliks. “B-but I was going as fast as I could!”

“It isn’t your fault, Raivis,” Feliks stated firmly, and there was another soft hiccup, followed by a creak of the mattress as he gave his smaller friend a hug.

“No, it isn’t,” Arthur agreed softly, and retreated over to his bed.

It was hard not to be angry. He couldn’t imagine what Raivis and Feliks had gone through here. But right now, there wasn’t anything he could do. Not until he got out.

He sat there for a long time, listening to Raivis occasionally sniff and Feliks murmur words of comfort. At one-point food was brought, and the three of them ate the bland meal in silence.

 

He must have dozed off, because the next thing Arthur knew, he was being woken up by the sound of the door opening. He sat up, squinting against the bright light, and managed to catch sight of a figure shutting the door before they were plunged into darkness again.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

It was Matt. Arthur sat up completely, rubbing beneath his eye and frowning a bit. “Don’t worry about it,” he replied, and listened as Matt went to sit down. A silence stretched out between them. Then, something occurred to Arthur. “Where do you go?”   

“What?”

“You never get…” Arthur searched for the right word. “…taken by anyone. You always seem to leave and come back on your own accord.”

“You’re never awake when I leave. You don’t know that.” Matt didn’t even miss a beat in responding to him. Immediately Arthur recognized the edge in his tone: he was defensive.

Wanting to avoid conflict with one of the few allies he had in this place, Arthur – reluctantly – relented and replied, “You’re right. I shouldn’t have made assumptions like that.” There was a chance that he _was_ mistaken. But the edge in Matt’s tone couldn’t be ignored.

When Matt spoke again, he sounded much more at ease. “It’s okay.” There was the rustle of blankets when Arthur could only assume he laid down on the bed. A short pause ensued, only for Matt to add, quietly, “Bonnefoy likes you.”

A chill went up his back. His throat constricted, leaving him struggling to give a response. “What do you mean?” Arthur at last managed to get out as he stared into the dark where Matt laid.

“I don’t know. It’s just…” It sounded as if Matt were holding back a sigh. “He _favors_ you. Thompson and Wang started muttering about him playing favorites. I guess you’ve, um, caught his eye.

“It might be a good thing, you know,” Matt pressed on when Arthur said nothing. “Maybe he’ll decide to keep you for himself. And then you won’t ever have to…” He trailed off. They both knew what he was referring to. “Y-you haven’t actually had to serve a customer yet, have you?”

“No,” Arthur said slowly. “He wanted to…” Disgust coiled on his tongue. “ _Train_ me first.”

The silence after that was disconcerting. He could almost sense Matt’s confusion. Dread was beginning to pool in the pit of his gut. Something was wrong. Or at least, what he was saying wasn’t normal. He didn’t like what the notion meant.

“Train? He doesn’t train anyone. You get broken in, and then they send you to a customer. That’s how you learn.”

* * *

The lights in the city were twinkling. It reminded Francis of the stars, but it had been ages since he had gotten a true glimpse of those. He reclined in his chair, calmly breathing in the smell of the burning candles. They were scented; roses, he believed. Natalya told him it was supposed to ease frustrations.

Yet there wasn’t anything in the world that could ease what he was feeling at the moment.

Thompson stood on the other side of his desk, taunt and straight-backed. He only took that stance when he was angry. “Boss,” he started out, and it was clear by the strain of his neck muscles that he was barely able to keep his tone level. “Wang and I want to have a talk with you about picking favorites.”

Francis flitted his gaze over to the other man in the room. Yao went stiff and avoiding meeting his eyes. A frown knitted his brows, but then he looked back over to Thompson. “Oh?” He brought a cool smile onto his face. “Please, do elaborate.”  

“That Grey fellow. Arthur or whatever the fuck his name is.” Thompson jabbed the air with an accusatory finger. “You’ve been _playing_ with him.”

“I see you’re not as dense as I previously thought.”

Thompson’s temple vein jumped. “You know what I mean, boss. You didn’t just do it once. That’s not normal. We’re supposed to break them in, and then get them on the market. Those are the rules.” He paused, grinding his teeth together. “ _Your_ rules, boss!”

It was true. Francis was aware he was breaking the very rules he established. They were there for a reason, of course. This was a business, and just as any business would expect, employees weren’t to play with the merchandise. But he didn’t like being called out on it. No, he did _not_.

Clucking softly with his tongue, Francis slowly sat up. Yao stepped back, looking ready to book it, and even Thompson’s imposing posture faltered. He kept his smile in place, but it quickly lost what little warmth it had, sending a chill through the room. “I’m making an exception,” he said, steeping his hands together, and looking to each of them in turn. “Just this once. You understand, don’t you?”

Neither of the men said anything, and Francis chuckled without an ounce of humor. He then swiveled his chair around to face the window once again. “Both of you are dismissed.”

One pair of footsteps quickly headed to the door. But one still lingered: Thompson, of course. “I’m not done discussing this, boss—”

“You should be extremely grateful that Natalya is indisposed at the moment, or I would have you tied up like a dog and left on the doorstep of the nearest correctional institution,” Francis snapped harshly, keeping his gaze on the window’s reflections. He saw fear flicker across Thompson’s face. “I took you out of there, and I can put you back just as easily.”

He watched as Thompson’s hands clenched into fists, his teeth gritted and a sweat forming on his forehead before taking in a shaky breath. Exercises to control his temper. Eventually, his Australian thug nodded. Francis shut his eyes, satisfied, and leaned back in his chair once more. 

“Shut the door on your way out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone noticed, I have gone back and made a few edits to previous chapters (nothing major, just grammar fixes and whatnot, since my writing has improved since I first wrote them.) 
> 
> Also, remember, a single comment can go a long way!


	10. Mistrust

More training lessons came, and so did Arthur, every time. Many of them left him exhausted, and despite their beds being as uncomfortable as sin, it was impossible for him not to pass out on his whenever brought back to the room.

But of course, when he woke up, he always became repulsed with himself. There was nothing he could do, however, but take it.

Thompson rarely spoke to him now. It was apparently a rare occurrence, one that Raivis and Feliks took notice to immediately. Even Matt, when questioned, told him that Thompson usually _didn’t_ stop talking. He particularly liked to insult his least favorite members. Arthur didn’t know whether to be unnerved by the silence or relieved.

He should have known it wasn’t a good sign.

The day started out as it often did, with Thompson showing up and grunting for him to follow. Arthur didn’t need to be held onto any longer, and he followed without a word to the elevator and then the room he would spend the next hour or two in.

He walked inside, ready to sit and wait for Francis to show up. But instead of leaving, Thompson followed in after him and shut the door. Arthur paused, shooting a wary look at him. There was a look on his face. It disturbed him, as it was unlike the usual demeaning stares he was given and the disgusted scowls.

This one was filled with resentment.

Arthur was in no way prepared when Thompson swung at him. His fist struck against his jaw, sending him stumbling back with a cry and grabbing his face in pain. The entire lower half of his face throbbed, and through watering eyes he stared at the man in shock. “What the hell was—”

He was cut off by Thompson slamming his fist into his gut. Arthur choked, his eyes going wide before he crumpled, coughing and hacking as spit filled his mouth. He could taste copper on his tongue.

“You _fucking_ worthless piece of _shit_ ,” Thompson spat out, his arms shaking at his sides. His foot kicked Arthur in the side when he tried to stand and sent him back down against the ground.

“You think—” He kicked him again. “—that you’re better—” Again. “—than me?!”

Arthur was wheezing, clutching his side as he struggled to scramble away. “You’re fucking insane!” He coughed, wiping the blood that trickled from the corner of his lip. When no more kicks came, he pulled himself to his feet, panting, and glared at the enraged man. “I never said—”

“You don’t have to,” Thompson interrupted with a snarl. “Now that you’re the boss’ fucktoy, you think you’re better than me. Well…” He spread his arms wide, a crooked grin stretching across his lips. “Fight back, you worthless cocksleeve.”

Against all better judgment, Arthur did. He punched Thompson in the nose right as Francis walked through the door. The satisfying crunch of his nose breaking was quickly overshadowed when he heard a shocked and furious gasp.

“ _Mon lapin!_ ”

Arthur turned, his blood turning to ice at the sight of Francis, and he stumbled back. “W-wait, no, I didn’t’…” He looked at Thompson, whose back was to Francis, and despite the blood pouring from his nose, there was a smug smirk on his face.

“He swung at me, boss,” Thompson said as he turned. “I guess he got lucky with that last one. But I was just following the rules, y’know, and putting him back in his place.” He wiped his upper lip with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his face. Francis curled his nose in disgust before turning his gaze back to Arthur.

“No, that’s not true!” Arthur shouted, panic and fury mixing together to make his voice crack. “He hit me and…”

“And then you hit him in return.” Francis’ tone was so cold it made Arthur flinch. “Don’t lie to me, _mon lapin_. I absolutely _forbid_ fighting.” He paused, and something flickered in his gaze, too fast for Arthur to truly catch. But then his stoic look returned. “You’ll need to be taught your place.”

There was a gleeful look in Thompson’s eye, and as he cracked a few of his knuckles, he asked, “Should I pick up where I left off?”

“No,” Francis replied, and for a moment, Arthur was foolish enough to think that this was over. But instead, he watched as Francis rolled up his sleeves, and finished: “I’ll do it.”

Arthur’s stomach dropped twenty feet. He stumbled backwards until his legs hit the edge of the lounger. “No!” He choked out, and Thompson stalked towards him, grabbing his arms and forcing him to sit. He struggled in his grasp, but it was no use, leaving him held down by Thompson behind him.

Francis walked towards him, sleeves rolled above his elbows and an empty look in his eyes. It terrified Arthur – truly, genuinely terrified him – and he struggled all the more. “Don’t! I didn’t do anything!” Francis was only a foot away. “Francis, don’t!” Now he stood in front of him, and was raising his fist.

“Francis, _please!_ ”

Something flashed in Francis’ eyes, and this time, Arthur caught what it was: regret. But then it quickly morphed to anger. His fist cracked against Arthur’s cheek, sending his head jerking to the side. Then the other cheek was struck, and Arthur was hit, over and over, until his vision went dark, and consciousness mercifully left him.

* * *

 

Everything ached. Arthur could have sworn it was a repeat of the last time he woke up from unconsciousness. But this time, his entire body throbbed and protested to every move he made. It took several attempts to even open his eyes. One was near swollen shut.

But he was surprised when he could actually see. There was light in the room, which he could only assume was a completely different one. Raivis and Feliks weren’t anywhere to be found. He attempted to sit up, only to wince and fall back against the pillow. Unable to actually get up, he instead looked around as best he could.

It was near identical to the room he’d found Mei in. Plain walls, windows covered in heavy and dark curtains, and a single lamp illuminating the room. He tried to move his arm, but discovered an IV embedded in his wrist. He swore softly, and with his other hand, he clutched the side of his head. Everything was coming back.

“Thompson, you _bastard._ ”

He tried looking around more. The IV attached to his arm was dripping slowly on his left. He squinted to read the label. Morphine. “Great,” he muttered, “human trafficking _and_ illegal drugs.”

 The side of his face itched. Arthur moved to scratch it, only to have his fingertips brush against rough stitches. His eyes went wide as he traced their path. They started in the center of his cheek and went down to his jaw. A hoarse laugh escaped him. Coupled with his black eye, he must be quite the sight to see.

Very slowly he worked himself into a sitting position. A quick lift of the blanket showed that his stomach was littered in large and ugly bruises. They didn’t hurt nearly as much as they appeared to – although Arthur suspected that was due to the morphine drip.

Arthur started to work on the IV when the door to the room opened. His head jerked up, and he swore when he tugged at the tube wrong. But the sting from that was hardly noticeable. Francis stood in the doorway.

He shut the door in silence, and then leaned against the wall. His arms crossed in front of his chest. Arthur caught sight of bandages wrapped around his right hand.

“I wouldn’t remove that,” Francis advised, nodding his head at the IV. “We’re giving you enough to numb most of the pain.”

“This stuff is illegal to own, you know,” Arthur said, and when Francis’ brow quirked, he added hastily, “You obviously don’t have a medical license. You shouldn’t have morphine.”

His chuckle in response startled him. “ _Mon lapin,_ you’re wrong. I actually _do_ have a medical license.” Francis gestured with his uninjured hand at his face. “Who do you think stitched you up?”

Arthur touched the stitches and frowned. They were, indeed, even and made by an experienced hand. “What, so you’re the doctor _and_ the pimp?”  

“Don’t forget the disciplinary,” Francis added with another chuckle, and it was such a nonchalant laugh that Arthur could almost forget what this man was capable; what he had done. Almost.

“ _You_ did this to me.”

“No, I only hit your face,” Francis corrected him. “In hindsight, a mistake. It’s one of your few redeeming assets.”

Arthur scowled. “I could’ve walked away from what Thompson did.”

“You’re lucky I came in when I did,” Francis snapped, and Arthur immediately went silent. “Wang tipped me off. I wasn’t going to come for another half hour. Thompson could have – and _would_ have – done much worse to you if I hadn’t walked in when I did. _Especially_ since you broke his nose.”

A knot twisted in his gut. Arthur didn’t want to think about what could’ve happened. But then, he registered the first part, and his scowl came back. “Wait, you _knew_ Thompson started it? And you _still_ beat the living daylights out of me?!”

Francis’ level gaze didn’t waver. “Yes.”

“What the fuck?!” Arthur nearly tore out the IV in his hasty attempt to get out of the bed. He wanted to throttle Francis. The odds of him actually getting far with that were near zero, but he was rightfully pissed. “You _knew._ You sided with him even though you _knew_ —”

“I would rather beat you myself than risk Thompson catching you alone again.” Francis strode over to him and shoved him back down onto his back. He locked him in place with a stern look. “I can exert self control. If I came at you with the intent to actually harm you, you wouldn’t _be_ here.”

Arthur searched his face. He was still near impossible to read, and he was wary. Other than keeping merchandise around, he couldn’t think of a reason why Francis would go along with it for him. Remembering Matt’s words about having caught Francis’ eye made a shiver go down his back. “Why?”

Surprise made Francis lift his brows. “Does it matter?” He asked in return, and when Arthur continued to stare at him, he scoffed. “I’m paying good money for you, _mon lapin_. I don’t take investments lightly.”

Arthur bit his tongue holding back his retort. That if he were an investment, why hasn’t he been taken to a customer? The training was a load of bull. Matt – and even Feliks and Raivis, when questioned – confirmed that none of them had been ‘trained’ by anyone.

“What about Mei?” He asked instead.

Francis stopped and gave him a hard stare. There was a noticeable pause before he responded, slowly, “What about her?”

“I heard that she’s bedridden,” Arthur said, watching Francis for any giveaways that would give him answers. “There are rumors that she was beaten pretty badly. Much worse than I was.”

“Her circumstances were different.”

“And by different, do you mean she tried escaping and almost succeeded?”

In an instant Francis’ stance changed. He tensed, his lips going taut and his eyes steeling over. “Where would you get _that_ idea, _mon lapin_?” He inquired, his voice soft and dangerous.

Arthur met his gaze steadily. “People talk. I listen.”

That wasn’t the right answer. Francis narrowed his eyes and regarded him for a long moment. He felt put under a microscope, and he refused to falter even the slightest. The wrong move could make things even worse.

“I think,” Francis eventually said. “That you should focus less on listening, and more on minding your own business.”

He left without another word, and Arthur was left alone with only his thoughts for company. Idly his fingers scratched at the stitches and ghosted around the edges of his bruised eye. It was a harsh reminder of just how dangerous the job was. He didn’t want to think about what could happen to him if he were caught.   

* * *

 

            _The tip of Francis’ cock brushed against his face. Precum slicked generously across his lips. Arthur gasped, parting them and taking it into his mouth. He swallowed, caressing with his tongue languidly and gazing up at him through lidded eyes. Francis was smirking, and his hand wove into his hair._

_He bobbed his head with ease, his cock hitting the back of his throat and making him moan with zero shame. His own dick was aching for attention. But Arthur focused on Francis, slurping on his cock as if it were a final meal._

_Francis’ hand tightened in his hair. The roots were tugged, and it only stung at first. Francis chuckled. It echoed hallow through the room. Arthur paid it no mind, but then, the hand in his hair held him in place. He tried to move. His cock was deep in his throat, and it was getting hard to breathe. But Francis’ hand didn’t relent._

_Arthur choked, trying to tug free but failing miserably, only succeeding in getting Francis’ cock shoved deeper down his throat. Drool was leaking out of his mouth as he grunted and tried to cry out. He stared up at Francis, but his face was gone. There was only shadow and cruel laughter reverberating in his ears._

_The edges of his vision were blackening. He was slipping. His throat was convulsing around the cock. The laughter grew louder in his ears, until it didn’t even remotely resemble human, and banged at the inside of his head._

_Arthur struggled, clinging to consciousness for a second more. Hot cum spurted deep in his throat. He gagged, and his vision finally failed him. All that remained was darkness as he faded, and the cruelest of laughter._

 

Arthur jolted upright with a cry. His entire body was drenched in a cold sweat. Shivering, his hand flew to his throat, his lips. A nightmare. An all-too-real nightmare.

The room was still empty. But the IV drip was nearly empty as well. Someone would come to change it soon. Arthur placed a hand above his heart, breathing in deep, in and out. Gradually his heart slowed under his palm. The frantic pounding subsided into rhythmic pulses. He swallowed. His mouth was dry.

He twisted around, attempting to untangle from the sheets. But he quickly discovered a problem: he was erect. Embarrassment and shame flooded him. Already the dream was fading from his memory, but it wasn’t something he should get aroused from. Arthur was certain of that.

Ignoring it was the only solution. Arthur used his hands to untangle the sheets from his legs, careful with the IV, and then looked to the table on the other side of the bed. A bottle of water sat there. He grabbed it and unscrewed the cap in order to gulp down several mouthfuls. Water dribbled from the corners of his mouth in his haste, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

Everything still ached. But it wasn’t as bad as it could be. Arthur checked the IV’s stand. There were wheels. _Perfect._

He swung his legs over the edge and grabbed the IV stand for support. He stood up, grateful his legs weren’t beaten up like the rest of him, and tried to walk. Vertigo halted that, however, and he waited until his vision stopped spinning before trying again.

He wished there was a clock on the wall so he could know how long he slept. Time was starting to get harder and harder to tell the longer he was here.

Arthur walked over to the window. The heavy curtains were covered in a thick layer of dust. His hand shook as he grabbed the edge. This would be his first glimpse at the outside world since he went undercover. If he was lucky, it would give him a clue on where the building was.

He threw open the curtain, and a quiet gasp escaped him.

Water expanded towards the horizon. It glistened in the pale sunlight: the start or end of the twilight hours. A handful of smaller buildings obscured where the water met the island of Manhattan, but they couldn’t have been more than a few blocks away.

Arthur tore his gaze away from the water and craned his neck searching for more clues. There weren’t any visible landmarks, or even boats – none that he could see, anyway. But the other buildings looked like warehouses. At a guess, he could say they were nearby a docking port.

He tried opening the window. It didn’t budge. Feeling around the inside edges with a hand, he came to the conclusion that it was never meant to open in the first place. There was no telltale sign of a broken off latch or filled in notch. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if it were able to open. Fresh air might’ve been nice.

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

Arthur jerked his head around. He hadn’t even heard the door open. Francis was shutting it as he spoke. There was a frown on his face. His gaze was focused just beyond Arthur’s shoulder. The window.

He let go of the curtain and it fell back into place.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked, a suspicious frown knitting his brows together.

Francis held up a hand. A full IV pouch dangled in the air between them. “I planned to switch them out. Unless you’d rather I didn’t.”

Arthur thought back to the bruises on his stomach and face. He forced himself to relax. “I’m not about to protest.”

“Smart, _mon lapin_.” Francis crossed over to him and began to work at the IV. In silence Arthur watched, his eyes following his hands as they undid a clasp, tightening one part and loosening another. The full bag was placed and hooked up to the tube without a single faltering move.

He supposed Francis wasn’t lying when he said he had medical training.

“How long are you planning to keep me on this?”

Francis hummed in a thoughtful manner. “Not very long.”

“If you plan to get me addicted—”

“As easy as it would be to control you that way,” Francis interrupted with a cool smile. “I don’t intend to. I prefer ravishing you lucid.”

Arthur scowled, and as his face burned, he snapped, “Shut it.”

Instead of the anticipated anger, Francis chuckled. It lasted for only a few moments, however, before he exhaled. It was a weary sound, and it left Arthur staring at him. “Oh, _mon lapin_. You don’t realize how good you have it.”

Again Arthur thought about Matt’s words. The ‘training’ and the seemingly undivided attention Francis always seemed to have on him made his words a likely truth. He didn’t want it to be true.

“Considering I’m being kept here against my will,” Arthur replied dryly, “I don’t think I have it good at all.”

Francis responded with another laugh. This one, however, wasn’t nearly half as amused as the prior. In a way, it was almost cold. A shiver ran down Arthur’s spine.

“You should rest some more,” Francis went on, and gestured towards the bed. When Arthur gave him a disgruntled look, he smiled. “Trust me, _mon lapin_. Once I decide you’ve recovered, your training will resume – and you’ll need to be _very_ well-rested for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys didn't think I'd go on another hiatus, did you--
> 
> Also, again, I'm repeating this for myself and for other fanfiction writers: comment if you like the work. 
> 
> Receiving kudos is amazing but getting legit feedback is honestly such a huge motivator. Seriously. Just ask any fanfic writer.


	11. Betrayal

Arthur slept and woke up five more times before he was deemed healed enough to resume his training. It was a shame, to be honest; he’d gotten used to the cot. When asked, Francis told him that it’d only been three days. It didn’t seem like it had been nearly as long.

But he wasn’t brought back to the room right away. Instead, he found himself being led down that infamous hallway. The first door on the left swung open, and Arthur was greeted with the familiar sight of the lounger. Heavy cleaner still lingered in the air, burning his nose.

Francis shut the door behind them. Arthur didn’t need to look to know he was smiling. His tone alone was enough. “ _Mon lapin_ ,” he started out, weaving around Arthur and giving him a small push towards the lounger. “I was never given the chance to fully examine your body after you were injured.”

Curling his lip only to wince when it tugged at his stitches, Arthur frowned. “I figured you’d be impatient.”

With a firm push on his shoulders, Arthur was sat down onto the chaise, and he stared up at Francis. His hair hung in a golden curtain around his face. There was an amused gleam in his eyes that told he was far more entertained by the conversation than otherwise let on.

“You say that as if it were a bad thing.”

“That’s because it is. You like to rut as if you’re in bloody heat or something.”

“Going three days without your insults killed me, _mon lapin_.” Francis trailed his fingers from his shoulders to his neck, moving steadily up to his face. When his index brushed against the first stitch, Arthur winced, and he paused.

“Still hurts?”

“Of course it fucking hurts,” Arthur retorted, his eyes narrowing at him. “You practically split my face open.”

“I had good reason.”

“Sure, just like you have a good reason for being a—”

“I would _not_ finish that sentence if I were you, _mon lapin._ ” Francis fixed him in place with a chilling smile. His fingers moved again, and his thumb brushed across Arthur’s lips. A shiver passed beneath him, and his smile grew. “I think you’re starting to enjoy this more than you let on.”

Arthur shut his eyes and bit back angry words before they could fall from his mouth. Endure it and it would be over. He told himself that many times, but it was easier said than done. Pushed down further so that he was laid on his back, Francis then got to work on his shirt.

“Your bruises are looking better,” Francis commented, his gaze traversing across Arthur’s exposed front. The previously dark marks were now laced with green, and a few of the minor ones were already turning yellow. He traced his finger around the largest among them. Arthur cringed and hissed in pain.

“Don’t _touch_ them, for fuck’s sake.”

“My apologies,” Francis said, but he didn’t sound nearly as apologetic as his words. He did pull his fingers away from the bruises, however, and instead brought them down to Arthur’s hips. His thumbs traced over the raised bone of his hip. “It looks like you’re losing weight.”

Arthur scoffed, turning his head to the side. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“I’m not,” Francis retorted, and leaned down to nestle his face in the crook of his neck. Very carefully he brushed his lips upwards, until he reached the spot that made Arthur’s breath catch in his throat. A small grin turned up his lips.

“You’re still sensitive.”

“Fuck off,” Arthur breathed in response.

In retaliation, Francis nipped beneath his ear, and took _great_ satisfaction in how sharply Arthur inhaled. He hummed low in his throat, a hand moving up his side and ghosting around the very edges of his bruises.

Arthur remained still save for his chest rising and falling with every shallow breath he took. He refused to open his eyes. Francis’ hot breath was tickling his ear, and his gaze was burning on his face, watching for his reaction.

His body betrayed him quickly. Francis chuckled and nibbled the shell of his ear upon noticing the predicament in Arthur’s jeans. “So _impatient_ ,” he purred, the hand on Arthur’s hip gliding inwards.

Even through the jeans he could follow the path of Francis’ fingers. They wove in teasing spirals, starting with wide loops that grew tighter and tighter the closer they drew to his crotch. He hissed between his gritted teeth the second they stopped right on his zipper.

“Do you want this, _mon lapin?_ ”

“No, I—”

“ _Liar,_ ” Francis said, and his zipper was pulled down. His jeans were tugged open slowly, taunting him, and pushed down towards his knees. “You’re shaking. And not with fear. I know the difference.”

Arthur didn’t dare respond. His cock was straining against his boxers, and it was humiliating how much he _craved_ relief from it. The last and _only_ thing he wanted was to be touched. His mouth was starting to taste of blood from how harshly he bit the inside of his cheek. With a start, he caught his hands trembling at his sides, and he curled them into fists to still them.

Francis placed his palm on the bulge. The heel pressed ever-so-gently against him, and Arthur clenched his jaw enough that his molars ached in pain. Damned to hell, he needed friction. But asking for it was not going to happen. He refused to give Francis that satisfaction.

Those warm lips relocated to the nap of his neck. His teeth dragged against his skin, catching the unblemished flesh and biting down until red bloomed across the surface. Arthur’s breath caught in his throat again, desperate to escape in the form of a sigh, a moan – anything to show how good this was.

Instead, Arthur reigned his senses in, and rasped, “What’s the point of this?”

“Hm?” Francis paused, his mouth lingering on his skin and his palm hovering above his crotch, mere millimeters away.

“This isn’t some… stupid lesson, is it?” Arthur asked, despite knowing the answer. “You’re not trying to teach me anything. All this is some sick _game_.”

“What makes you think that?” Francis asked in return, his voice low and dancing across his skin, sending shivers down his back.

He didn’t mention Matt. More like he couldn’t without risking getting him into danger. So Arthur swallowed down the thick nervousness and instead said, “You honestly can’t think I’m that stupid.”

“Stupid?” Now Francis didn’t chuckle, but he did laugh. Rather heartily, in fact. “ _Non_ , I know you’re not stupid. Quite the opposite, _mon lapin_ , I believe you’re very smart.” He sat back, and in a moment of utter foolishness, Arthur opened his eyes.

Francis was straddling him, staring down into his eyes with an expression that chilled him to the core. His mouth wore a smile but his eyes held a very different look to them: pity.

“But you’re naïve,” he went on, in a soft voice that barely counted as a whisper. “And that’s going to be your undoing.”

He tore at Arthur’s clothes, his jeans being yanked down to the ankles and his shirt straining at the seams with each rough jerk. Gasping and struggling in his surprise, Arthur tried to push Francis off of him. But he held him down with one hand, the other slipping into his boxers and easily finding his cock.

Arthur managed to catch his yelp. His eyes scrunched back shut, Francis’ breath once more heating up the nape of his neck as his hand worked him. “D-don’t,” he gasped, and attempted shoving Francis’ shoulder. But his wrist was instead grabbed and pinned down onto the cushions beside his head.

The hand on his cock withdrew, and the pop of a cap reached his ears. Moments later Francis’ hand returned, slippery and slicked with lubricant. Arthur jolted, the chill traveling up and down his back only to go straight back to his groin. “O-oh, _fuck_ …!” His toes curled and his hips lifted to meet each stroke Francis made.

“You look ready to burst already,” Francis cooed, and he released his wrist when it became obvious he wouldn’t try to push him away again. There was a clink as he undid his buckle. All too suddenly, his hand stopped, and Arthur couldn’t help but groan in frustration. “I’m not going to let you finish so soon, _mon lapin_.”

 “You fucking _ass_.”

Francis pulled down his boxers, and then went back to work on his pants. His hand remained on his cock, leaving Arthur flushed and scowling. He took his sweet time pushing down the fabric enough to free his own length. There was a pause. But then, he said, “Tell me you want it.”

“No way in hell,” Arthur retorted without missing a beat.

Rather than get angry, Francis smiled. “One day you will.” He pushed Arthur’s legs up, spreading his ass cheeks while starting to stroke him again. Hitched gasps escaped him, and he almost didn’t notice when the tip of Francis’ cock pressed against his asshole. He was slick with lube, and with a single push, slid inside of him completely.

“ _Dieu,_ ” Francis breathed, bowing over him. “You’re so _hot, mon lapin._ ”

Arthur bit down on his bottom lip and groaned.  His ass was filled, and at this point, the stretch to accommodate Francis didn’t hurt in the slightest. If anything, it made it harder not to moan in pleasure.

With his hand resuming its strokes – having faltered after pushing into him – Francis drew back his hips only to snap them forward again. He grunted, and gave Arthur’s cock an unexpected squeeze, making him gasp.

Arthur arched his back, his fingers digging into the cushions and his cock throbbing against Francis’ hand. It took all the self-control he had to keep still, to not move his ass to meet each thrust. He cracked an eye open, catching sight of Francis above him. His eyes were shut, and there was sweat on his brow. Thin strands of hair clung together to stick to his cheek.

Despite everything, it made Arthur’s cock ache even more.

It took only a few more thrusts for Francis to start angling, tilting his hips this way and that. He didn’t need to search for long, and when he hit Arthur’s prostate, the cry that sounded out was well worth the effort.

“Moan for me again, _mon lapin_ ,” Francis purred deep in his throat, running his thumb across the tip of Arthur’s cock. He thrust in again, harder this time, and relished in the strangled sound that escaped him.

He was putty. Arthur gave up keeping his eyes open, tilting his head back and moaning sharply each time pleasure shot through his body. Every time that he was ready to burst, however, Francis squeezed the base of his cock and made it impossible. He grew desperate, nails scratching the lounger and an occasional whimper slipping past his stubborn pride.

Francis laughed, breathless and highly amused. “Beg for it,” he said, and when Arthur shook his head firmly once, he laughed again.

Every thrust hit his prostate. Arthur was drawn to the very edge several times only to be yanked back, a moan of frustration sounding out each time. He _craved_ relief. But Francis wasn’t about to give it to him. He teased him with his touch, his skilled fingers milking his cock until there was more precum than lube slicking his hand. Arthur’s resolve was ready to snap.

But right before it could, as always, Francis eased.

He fucked Arthur with fervor, the lounger cushions groaning in protest as he sought his own release. With his hips slapping hard against Arthur’s ass, he bit at his ear, relinquished the tight hold he had on his cock, and whispered, “Cum for me.”

Nothing held Arthur back as he gasped, cum spurting from his cock. His climax rippled through him, ecstasy and relief mingling together into an addictive cocktail. At the same time, Francis thrust into him one last time, and filled him up to the brim. Hot cum coated the inside of his ass, sending a shiver through him.

His head lolled to the side, his lips parted as he panted and struggled to come down from the pleasure high. Francis pulled out of him with a wet _pop_ , and hot cum leaked onto the cushions. There was a rustle of clothes, a gentle sigh, and then a towel was being rubbed across his stomach. It took him a second to realize Francis was wiping his own cum off of him.

Arthur laid there, not wanting to move again. He dreaded getting up and making the walk back to the dark dorm, where an uncomfortable bed waited for him. Even the lounger – with its stiff cushions that reeked of sweat and sex – seemed like the most comfortable thing in the world.

Silence fell after Francis finished fixing him up. He waited to be told to get up and leave. But the words didn’t come. Instead, Francis lifted up his legs and sat down before draping his knees across his lap. More rustling followed, and then there was a soft click.

Arthur held his breath.

Smoke wafted across his nose. Arthur opened his eyes just as Francis put away his lighter and held the plump cigar between his teeth. The sight was so unexpected he couldn’t remain quiet.

“You even _smoke_ pretentiously.”

Francis quirked a brow as he glanced at him. “I assumed you passed out.”

“Are you going to make me leave now that you know I didn’t?”

There was a brief pause before Francis shook his head. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it back from his face and untangling the curls sex brought about. “ _Non_. Rest if you want. I don’t have anywhere to be.”

Arthur stared at him for awhile. He waited for an ulterior motive to surface. There always was one. However, if there was this time, Francis didn’t make it known. Instead he sat there and smoked the cigar, gazing into space.

Albeit wary, Arthur shut his eyes again. He didn’t want to get up. If Francis wasn’t going to make him leave, then he would rest. If only for a short while.

* * *

 

The click of the door opening and soft murmurs woke Arthur from his dozing. He grunted, turning onto his back to look to the door. Francis stood in the ajar door, speaking in hushed tones to someone he couldn’t see. Sitting up onto his elbows, he strained to hear.

“… should come hear for yourself. She has plenty of interesting things to say.”

From his vantage point Francis’ expression was impossible to tell. Not even his posture gave anything away. But he was tense.

Arthur sat up further in time for him to turn to face him. Still, he couldn’t gauge Francis’ face. It was blank, almost guarded, and there was a slight wrinkle on his brow. He gestured for him to stand, and when he hesitated, he ordered, “ _Mon lapin_ , come with me.”

Despite being sore, Arthur complied. He was led to an entirely new room, a few doors down and, albeit identical to the one he’d previously been in, it was already filled with a few people. Thompson was there, wearing a grim scowl, and another man of Chinese ethnicity he could only assume was Wang. But the one that startled him the most was the familiar face standing between them: Mei.

Francis shut the door behind him once they entered. He then crossed the threshold to stand in front of Mei, folding his arms in front of his chest. Arthur remained as stoic as possible, gazing from the other men in the room to her. She’d healed up nicely, the bandages removed from her face and her arm in a simple sling. But there was nothing healthy about the manic look in her eye, and the desperation that drew her lips into a thin, taut line.

It was Wang that broke the silence. “Tell the boss what you told us,” he ordered Mei, who looked to him with wide eyes and nodded fervently. Her attention then went back to Francis.

“That man—” She pointed to Arthur with her unbroken hand. “—is a cop!”

It was as if the floor dropped out from beneath him. His heart stopped completely, and he stared at Mei, too shocked to speak. All eyes but Francis’ were on him.

“He told me himself! Came to me while I was resting, and said he was undercover!” Mei’s frantic eyes darted back and forth between them. Her pointed and accusing finger wobbled with each insistent jab at him. “He’s a cop! A cop, I tell you!”

Thompson’s eyes bored into him. Wang was frowning, suspicion filling his face with each word Mei vehemently spat out. But Francis still had yet to even spare a glance in his direction. Arthur didn’t dare move from the spot. He prayed his shocked expression could be taken for one of innocence.

 Mei only paused for a few breaths. Her eyes were wider now than they were before. “H-he said he was going to break all of us out of here! And put all of you in prison! Forever!” Her voice cracked. She was waiting for a response – or maybe a reaction – and she wasn’t getting one. Not from Francis, anyway.

Arthur couldn’t read him. There was no telling what Francis was thinking, with his back turned to him and his posture unchanged. Wang and Thompson kept watching him for a sign. The tension in the air was mounting, thick and choking him. At any moment, Francis would turn around and have him killed. Or worse. His heart was pounding in his ears, no longer stopped but on complete overdrive. He couldn’t accept that he made it this far only to be outted – just like that. They’d never nail any of these sick bastards. They would win, and all because he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut.

Francis laughed.

The sound shocked everyone. Wang and Thompson both stared at their boss, Arthur all but forgotten, and Mei took a startled step back.

There was a moment where it seemed like he was trying to collect himself, only to start chortling again. His shoulders even shook. Francis held his head in his hand, as if trying to comprehend how such a clever joke managed to slip past him.

No one spoke. No one knew what to say, was the more likely case. Thompson was bewildered, the look comical with the bandage on his nose and the purple bruising coming from beneath it. Wang, on the other hand, was scared, tight lines forming at the corners of his mouth. But poor Mei was the most confused, and didn’t dare speak again.

It took a few moments, but eventually, Francis’s laughter died out. He straightened up, glanced at his men, and then back at the girl.

His backhand sent her sprawling across the floor.

Arthur gaped before rushing towards her. Wang reacted quicker, however, and stretched an arm out in his path, holding him back. Mei clutched her face with her good hand, hiccupping and with tears starting to fall from her eyes. Francis stood over her, and finally Arthur got a look at his face.

There was a cold smile on his lips. It chilled the air from the mere sight, and it left no wonder as to why Mei quickly turning into a blubbering mess. “I-I’m sorry, sir! I’m sorry!”

“You dragged me away from one of my _very few_ moments of relaxation,” Francis started out in a dangerous tone, speaking over her apologies. “Just so you could spout a ridiculous _lie_?”

Mei broke into sobs, laying flat on the ground and quaking with fear. “F-forgive me! Please! I’m sorry!”

A curt noise of disgust escaped Francis before his attention turned to his men. They both stiffened. “You _believed_ this foolishness?”

Both were at a loss for words. But then it was Wang who stammered, “You told us to come to you with anything suspicious!”

“So you decided to waste my time with the made-up tale from a deserting whore?” Francis quipped, his eyes narrowing into icy slits. Wang immediately shrank back and retreated a step. His head snapped over to Thompson, who didn’t waver in his place, yet some color drained from his face.

“Get rid of her.”

Mei lifted her head from the ground. The manic look was gone from her eyes. Now they were flooded over with terror. “N-no,” she cried, and scrambled forward, grabbing Francis’ shoes. “I beg you! I’ll never disobey again! I’ll be good! I promise, sir! Please!”

He kicked her hands away and didn’t even give her a second look. Instead he continued to glare at Thompson. “Now.”

Thompson moved, picking Mei up by the arms as she screamed and bawled. Her legs kicked at the air, her body twisting in his grasp. It was the desperation of an animal trapped in the hunter’s snare. Arthur tried again to reach her, but this time, it was Francis that stopped him. He grabbed him by the front of the shirt, and promptly dragged him towards the door.

“W-wait,” Arthur protested, dragging his heels but to no avail. “What are they going to do to her?!”

“The less you know,” Francis said, not bothering to turn his head. “The better.”

His blood turned to ice. Mei’s frantic screaming was growing louder, despite how they were now in the hall and heading towards the elevator. “You can’t. It was just a stupid story; you can’t hurt her over a stupid story!”

Francis pushed the elevator button and the doors slid open. His only response was to shove Arthur inside. He stumbled and smacked against the wall, catching himself before he slumped to the ground. Just in time, he turned to see Francis blocking the elevator’s exit.

“Return to your room, _mon lapin_ ,” Francis said, fixing him in place with that cold and impassive stare. He reached inside and hit one of the buttons on the wall. Then he reached to pull out a small object Arthur overlooked all his other times in the elevator: an activation key. “And for your sake, I would forget about Mei.”

He stepped back, allowing the elevators to close. Arthur lunged for the doors, but was unable to stop them from shutting. He pounded his fists against them, yelling for Francis to open and let him out. The floor beneath him jerked as the elevator began to descend. Defeated, he slowly slid down to his knees.

Mei’s screams still echoed in his ears long after they stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys. The amount of comments I received at the end of the last chapter was amazing. I replied to as many of them as I could! They really helped with keeping me motivated as I wrote this chapter. 
> 
> Oh, and a heads up: I don't write many happy endings.


	12. Murder

His phone buzzed on the bedside table, clattering loud enough for him to stir. Alfred didn’t move, letting it go to voicemail so he could drift back to sleep. Whatever it was could wait until morning.

Not even a second after the buzzing stopped did it resume again, this time with fierce determination. His bed partner shifted, starting to wake too, and Alfred groaned before reaching to grab his phone. The light of the screen blinded him momentarily, and he chose not to check the ID when he slid his thumb across the screen.

“Hello?” he croaked out, and rubbed his throat with his free hand. The night of drinking hadn’t been kind to him.

“Alfred.” Carlos was on the line, and his voice immediately snapped Alfred awake.

He sat up. “What happened?”

“We found a body. You’re gonna want to come down to the docks.”

“Is it—”

“It’s not Arthur,” Carlos finished for him, and waited until after Alfred sighed in relief before continuing. “But you know her.”

“Her?” Alfred repeated, confused for a moment. But then it dawned on him. A cold knot twisted his stomach around. “I’ll head over.”

 

Rain poured down in a torrent. Alfred flipped up his hood before stepping out of his car, and made his way past milling forensic scientists and homicide officers. Carlos and Elizabeta were waiting for him at the end of one of the piers.

Alfred jogged up to them. “Where is she?”

Elizabeta pointed at the water, and his gaze followed her finger.

The glassy eyes of Mei Xiao stared back up at him, her head barely bobbing above the water’s surface. Her dark hair billowed around her in the water. A raindrop landed on her brow and slid down the contours of her face, reminding him of a tear.

Her throat was slit, flesh split open wide from ear to ear beneath her chin.

Alfred sucked in a breath. “Shit.”

“Our forensics haven’t looked at her yet, but it looks like she bled out fast,” Carlos said beside him. “It took less than a minute.”

“Yeah, well,” Alfred replied bitterly. “A minute can last a long fucking time.” His stomach was rolling. Just a few weeks ago he’d seen this girl alive, and had the chance to save her. But now she was floating in the marina.

Elizabeta gestured for the forensic team to come over. “Get her out,” she ordered. “Before the water degrades evidence further.”

“Do you think they killed her here?” Alfred asked Carlos, the two of them stepping to the side to give forensics room to work. The homicide detective shook his head.

“I doubt it. She hasn’t started to decompose, so she hasn’t been in the water very long. And I’m pegging the slash in her throat being a least several hours old.”

Alfred ran his hand through his hair and tipped his head back. Raindrops landed on his glasses, sliding down the glass to drip onto his cheeks. Worry was ebbing him raw from the inside. He’d drank himself into a stupor the prior night just to sleep properly, but this only added another weight to his anxiety.

“Arthur could be next,” he said in a voice so soft he didn’t expect Carlos to hear. But he must have, as he placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

A car rolled up to the scene and stopped right in front of the police barricades. The bright lights caught the attention of any cop or forensic scientist not near the body. Alfred and Carlos looked over in time to see the occupant step out from their vehicle. Their umbrella momentarily hid their face, but as they drew closer to the barricade, Alfred heaved a sigh.

“Know her?” Carlos asked.

“Uh, yeah. She’s an intern at my precinct.” Alfred went to meet her halfway, and managed a lopsided grin at her. “Yo, Natasha. Didn’t expect you to follow me here.”

Natasha frowned. “Your belt,” she said, and held out his belt, gun holster and radio both dangling in the air. “You forgot it.”

“Oh,” Alfred sputtered, and took it from her quickly. “Right. Sorry ‘bout that.” He slipped it on, and was acutely aware that her stare was on him the entire time.

“Listen…”

“If you plan on telling me you aren’t looking for anything serious,” Natasha cut him off, holding up her hand. “I already know. I don’t make it a habit of dating cops.”

“I’m a detective,” Alfred corrected her on impulse, and when she glared, he hastily added, “But yeah, okay. That’s totally fine. I also wanted to apologize for trying to leave without telling you.”

“If you weren’t such a good fuck, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

Carlos snorted loudly behind him. Alfred cleared his throat, grateful that the rain and his hood kept his burning ears covered. “Look, uh, this isn’t really the place for this.”

Natasha stole a glance behind him. “Someone found a dead body?”

“I can’t really talk about it.”

“I understand,” she said, and turned to head back. “Then I’ll leave you to your work.”

“Okay.” Alfred watched her walk over to her car, and as she opened it, he called out: “I’ll see you at the precinct!”

Her response was a single glance in his direction before Natasha slipped inside and shut the door. Carlos stepped up beside him. He whistled.

“Damn, Alfred. I didn’t figure you for the serious type.”

“It’s a fling.”

Carlos shrugged in response to the defensiveness of his tone. “Hey, I’m not gonna judge. But you may want to go do something productive before your chief comes over and asks why an intern showed up at the crime scene.”

* * *

When Francis came to visit Arthur, he’d anticipated that he would be upset. But he hadn’t expected Arthur to break off a piece of his bed and attempt to decapitate him with it.

“ _Mon lapin_ ,” Francis ordered, his words as sharp as his eyes. “Put that down.”

“You _killed_ her,” Arthur spat, his grip tight on the metal bar. He’d only just missed Francis’ head when he came through the door. He wished he hadn’t. “She was only a child, and you _killed_ her!”

Words couldn’t describe his anger. It was _his_ fault. If he hadn’t told Mei the truth, she would still be alive. But Francis was the one to pull the trigger.

Francis regarded him with an expression so calm it was infuriating. “She was a liar,” he replied, “who was willing to throw you under the bus if it meant saving her own skin.”

“She was _terrified_!” Arthur smacked the wall with the bar, and the loud clang reverberated through the room. Francis didn’t flinch. “I get you’d be angry, but to kill her in cold blood!” His lips curled. “You’re some sort of monster, Francis.”

“How rude,” Francis said, but his expression showed no offense. He stepped closer to Arthur, only to stop when he swung at him again. “ _Mon lapin…_ ”

“No,” Arthur said through gritted teeth. “Stay away from me.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Francis continued forward, and when Arthur swung the pipe at him, he caught it. He jerked it from his hand and tossed it to the floor with an echoing clatter. Arthur scowled at him before retreating several steps back.

“Don’t come near me.”

Francis ignored him and matched his steps. He grabbed Arthur by the chin, and forced his lips onto his. Arthur was shocked at first, but within seconds it became replaced by fury. He bit down on Francis’ lip, drawing blood and causing him to jerk away with a hiss.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” Arthur growled between gritted teeth. Some of Francis’ blood lingered in his mouth, and his lips tingled, bruised from the harsh kiss.

Francis wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand. He glanced down at the blood and his eyes narrowed. For a moment Arthur didn’t think he would answer. But then Francis’ nails dug into his skin, gripping his chin even harder, and he was forced to meet is gaze. There was irritation reflecting back at him. It reminded Arthur of the scolding look a parent would give a child, and that only pissed him off further.

“You need to calm yourself, _mon lapin_ ,” Francis warned. “before you do something stupid.”

“Stop calling me that!” Arthur snapped instead, trying to jerk his chin free. “I swear, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Francis interrupted with a humorless bark of laughter. “Kill me? _Mon lapin_ , you know you can’t. Not while you’re here, and at _my_ mercy.” His nails broke through his skin, and Arthur grimaced. Blood beaded at Francis’ fingertips, but he didn’t seem fazed. “Remember where you are. Remember that I _own_ you, _mon lapin_.”

Arthur glared. “Nobody owns me,” he said, each word like a razor. “ _Nobody_.”

This got Francis to smile. But it was empty, as it almost always was, and didn’t reach his eyes. “If your naivety wasn’t so charming, I’d give you a much harsher lesson about reality.”

“I’m not naïve.”

“Ignorant, then. Or dare I say: stupid?”

“Shut the fuck—”

“ _Non, mon lapin_. You’re being very stupid now,” Francis said, and tilted Arthur’s chin up further. He leaned close, their noses almost touching, and the smile remained on his face. “Do you know why? Because you know what I’m capable of. You said it yourself: I murdered that girl. I murdered a child. And if I murdered a child, _mon lapin_ , well…” His grip eased, and he stroked his thumb across Arthur’s chin. Blood smeared across his skin.

“What do you think I’d do to you?”

Arthur’s heart stopped. He jerked his chin free and took a large step back, trying not to show how much Francis’ words spooked him. The thought was terrifying. If Francis would have a child murdered without hesitation, then what would he do to him? Especially if he discovered he was a cop. A shiver went down his back.

Francis lowered his hand, still smiling, and turned away. He picked up the piece of bedframe from the floor and tossed it lightly into the air. “I’ll let you be, _mon lapin_ ,” he said, examining the metal with feigned interest. “Clearly you need some time to cool that hot head of yours. _Oui_?”

He headed for the door, and Arthur didn’t move from his spot until it clicked shut. The room was plunged back into darkness. Only then did Arthur expel the heavy breath he’d been holding in. He placed a hand on his chest, willing his pounding heart to slow, and touched his chin. The broken skin was tender, but the bleeding was already stopped.

“Fuck,” he whispered into the darkness as he fisted his hand above his heart. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to do this.

He had to get word out to Alfred before this undercover mission started to crumble around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that certainly took a long time.


	13. Persuade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating was changed to "explicit" due to the death in prior chapters and the content that will be in future ones. To make up for last chapter being a tad short, this one is about seven pages worth (on Microsoft word, anyway) so enjoy!

For several days, Feliks and Raivis avoided him. Word spread about Mei’s death – quite rapidly – and it wasn’t until Arthur cornered Raivis about it that he learned what they were saying: that it was _his_ fault.

“How can they think that?” Arthur asked while laying in bed. “Why would they _believe_ it?”

Matt hummed beside him. “Rumors, I guess. No one really knows what happens to everyone else around here unless they tell you personally.”

“But _still_ ,” Arthur ran his fingers through his hair and pulled. “I didn’t… it wasn’t…” It _was_ his fault. But no one else could know that. After Mei, he’d vowed not to tell anyone else about who he really was. It would only put them in danger if he was exposed.

“They’re scared,” Matt said. The room was dark, but even without seeing his face, Arthur could sense how sympathetic he was. “Mei is… _was_ loved by almost everyone here. We were devastated when she was caught.”

His chest was tight. Arthur heaved a shaky sigh. “I wish it was me they killed instead.”

“No, you don’t.”

* * *

The next time he saw Francis, he acted as if nothing had happened between them. Arthur was pulled down onto the chaise, and within moments Francis started nibbling at his neck. Disgust and anger churned in his stomach, but he did nothing to fight it. He couldn’t forget, and he certainly couldn’t forgive.

His shirt was on the floor when Francis seemed to notice how tense he was. “ _Mon lapin_ , you need to get better at faking it,” he chastised, and Arthur ground his teeth together.

“You can give up on the ‘lessons.’ I know they aren’t actually teaching me anything.”

Francis didn’t seem surprised he knew. Instead he sighed and dragged his fingers down Arthur’s torso. “Do you think of them as lessons?” he asked, and undid the button of his jeans.

“No,” Arthur replied, averting his gaze and staring at the wall beyond Francis’ shoulder. “I don’t know what they are. Maybe you’re just doing this to piss me off.”

A grin twitched at Francis’ lips. “You flatter yourself, _mon lapin_. Not everything I do revolves around you.”

“You’re trying to jerk me off,” Arthur quipped, “so you’re wrong in this instance.”

The hand in his pants paused, and only Francis’ thumb continued to move, lightly caressing the head of his cock. The pleasure alone was starting to get overwhelming. Arthur, however, managed to remain stoic. After not hearing a sound from him, Francis at last sat back and looked him in the eye. A frown knitted together his brows.

“Your unusual lack of participation is quite frustrating,” Francis said, and pulled his hand from Arthur’s jeans to instead grip his waistband. He yanked his pants down, taking his boxers with, and pulled each leg free in turn. Eventually Arthur was naked, but he continued to stare, impassive, up at him. Francis’ lips curled down.

“ _Mon lapin_ , you’re starting to test my patience.”  

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ ,” Arthur drawled, “forgive me for not forgetting that you _murdered_ —”

Francis slapped him across the face. The blow stung, leaving Arthur wincing and clutching his now throbbing cheek.

“You’re not to speak of that again,” he ordered, and when Arthur opened his mouth to protest, he gave a warning glare. “Remember what I said about you acting stupid, _mon lapin_. You’re entertaining, and I would very much like to keep you around, but even the most fun toys can be thrown out for new ones.”

Arthur scowled, but went silent. He couldn’t push Francis too far. The last thing he wanted was to end up like Mei. Yet trying to be compliant was posing a challenge. The best he could do was lay there and not make a peep, even as Francis resumed his fondling and eventually slid inside of him.

* * *

“Do you ever think about your life before all this?” Arthur asked Matt one night. It was just the two of them in the basement room in darkness. He’d woken up a few minutes ago to the sound of him sitting on his bed.

There was a significant pause. “Sometimes,” Matt said, “but it’s been so long that I hardly remember any of it.”

Arthur pressed his lips into a thin line. “How old were you?”

“Fifteen,” Matt answered, and before Arthur could press further, he added, “And no, I _don’t_ want to talk about my first year here. I don’t even remember most of it.”

He was lying. Arthur could tell by his tone. But he wouldn’t pry into something Matt obviously didn’t want to discuss. “I’m sorry.”

A snort. “Don’t apologize. The last thing I want is anyone feeling sorry for me.”

* * *

The desk across from his was empty. Still Alfred couldn’t get used to it. He glanced up from the doodles at the edges of his notes, half-expecting Arthur to chastise him for not keeping them neat and legible. But instead he was met by the empty chair.

Alfred slumped forward, raking a hand through his hair. He’d gone over the case files multiple times. But there was nothing but dead ends and false leads. No reliable witnesses, no evidence; absolutely nothing for him to work with.

A Styrofoam cup was placed in front of him. Alfred looked up. It was Natasha, who was frowning at him and holding an identical cup in her hand.

“Hey, Nat,” he greeted her with a lopsided grin. Her eyes narrowed at him.

“It is _Natasha_ ,” she corrected him, and then tapped the lid of the cup. “Coffee. You look dead.”

Alfred picked up the cup and laughed dryly. “Gee, thanks.” He took a sip, only to cringe and smack his lips. “Is this black?”

“Cream and sugar is for the weak. Or in your case,” Natasha added, with a pointed look into his candy-wrapper filled garbage. “the diabetic.”

“Ouch.” Alfred opened his desk drawer and pulled out a handful of sugar packets. Ignoring how Natasha wrinkled her nose in disgust, he ripped a couple open and poured them into his cup. “So glad you’re thinking of my health.”

She scoffed and sat down in Arthur’s chair. Leaning back, she frowned at the spotless surface that was in stark contrast to his. “Is there an opening?”

Alfred took a sip of his coffee before answering. “No,” he said, “that’s just my partner’s desk.”

Her brow quirked. “I wasn’t aware you had one. Where are they?”

“Oh, he’s… on leave,” Alfred said, swiveling his chair from side to side. He wasn’t allowed to discuss Arthur outside of a select few. Any small slip could jeopardize Arthur’s cover – and his life. “Lucky bastard decided to cash in all unspent vacation days at once. He’s in the Caribbean right now while I’m stuck picking up his slack.”

Natasha hummed, the cup still against her lips. She appeared thoughtful for a second before turning her attention to his desk. “It’s a shame he’s missing out on such exciting cases.”

“Exciting cases that _you_ shouldn’t know about,” Alfred reminded her, tipping his cup at her.

Natasha wasn’t fazed. “It’s not my fault you talk in your sleep.”

“Bullshit, I do not.”

“Anyone else you’ve slept with would disagree,” she replied, and rested her elbows on Arthur’s desk. She folded her fingers in front of her and rested her chin on top of them. “Speaking of, I’m free this evening.”

“You know, your bluntness is probably the most charming thing about you, Nat.”

“ _Natasha_.”

“Right, right,” Alfred said with a grin. “How about you come to my place tonight, then? If I come and go anymore, your doorman will start to ask questions.”

A very small smile turned up Natasha’s mouth. It lasted for only a moment, but he definitely caught it. “Fair enough. Do you want to meet up at the usual place?”

“Sure. And I promise I won’t get blackout drunk this time.”

“Do not make promises you cannot keep, Alfred.”

* * *

While laying on the chaise and staring up at the ceiling, Arthur asked, “Why did you kiss me?”

Francis looked at him over his shoulder. He stood beside the window, a lit cigar hovering just in front of his lips and his shirt undone halfway down. His brow quirked. “I don’t recall doing such a thing.”

Irritation made Arthur grit his teeth. “Don’t play stupid,” he said, and clenched his fists. “The other day you kissed me.”

There was a pause as Francis hummed, trying to remember. “Ah. _Oui_ , I believe I did.”

“Why?”

A low chuckle was his response. Francis took in a deep draw of the cigar, and let the smoke drift out between his teeth. “Why do _you_ think I did?”

Remembering Matt’s comment about being his ‘favorite’ nearly made Arthur gag. “If I could think of a reason, I wouldn’t ask you,” he snapped, and turned his head. He propped himself up onto one elbow, only to wince. His ass was still sore. When Francis didn’t respond, he went on: “I’m not used to reading the minds of twisted bastards like you.”

"So cruel.” Francis lowered the cigar with a sigh. He turned around to face Arthur, leaning against the windowpane and regarding him with cool disinterest. “I don’t believe you’ve given me a good reason to explain my actions to you, _mon lapin_.” To prove his point, he pulled down the collar of his shirt and revealed a red bite mark on his shoulder. He tsked, running his fingers over the lingering indents of Arthur’s teeth. “You were just _so_ naughty today. Not in the way I like, either.”

Arthur bit back a retort, knowing that it wouldn’t get the answers he wanted. He sat up fully and glared at Francis, who met his gaze without flinching. “Tell me, Francis,” he insisted, gritting his teeth.

“You know how to get me to,” Francis said, and brought the cigar back to his lips.

Inside his mind, Arthur was yelling at the top of his lungs. The frustration was wearing him thin, but the curiosity was gnawing at him for so long to not get an answer. He got to his feet, crossing the room until he stood in front of Francis. They stared at each other, unwavering, even as the sickly sweet cigar smoke started to sting Arthur’s nose.

He got on his knees. Francis didn’t move, but without even looking Arthur was burned by the satisfaction in his stare. With clumsy hands he undid his belt, pulling down his pants and boxers. He wanted to get this over with, but Francis seemed to read his mind, as he said, “Don’t rush things, _mon lapin_. Sloppy work doesn’t get you what you want.”

Scowling, Arthur didn’t retort, and instead brought his attention to Francis’ dick. It was soft, much to his dismay, and with heavy reluctance, he started to stroke it. This got no reaction out of him, but Arthur wasn’t surprised. It was doubtful the cool mask Francis wore would break from this alone.

He stroked his hand up and down, until _finally_ his cock was hard enough. Not wanting to drag this out any longer than necessary, Arthur parted his lips and took Francis into his mouth. He pressed his tongue flat against the underside, shutting his eyes as he started to move his mouth. He was grateful he couldn’t see Francis’ face. Seeing him either smug or in pleasure was the last thing he needed.

“Remember what I taught you before, _mon lapin_ ,” Francis suddenly chimed. “Use your tongue more.”

Arthur used a lot of his willpower to not bite down. Instead he focused on stroking the length of Francis’ cock that wasn’t in his mouth, and moving his tongue. He swirled it around, rubbing the sides and leaving his cock slick with saliva each time he drew his mouth back.

By now, Francis was stiff, salty precum dripping from the tip of his cock. Arthur pulled his mouth back, dragging his tongue against the head – and was surprised when Francis took in a sharp breath. He made the mistake of opening his eyes and glancing up.

Francis was staring down at him, cheeks dusted pink and brows knitted together. Their eyes locked, and a small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. Arthur shut his eyes fast, trying to erase that look from his memory, and so hastily took Francis back into his mouth that he almost gagged. Francis snorted.

“Careful, _mon lapin_. Vomiting tends to ruin the mood.”

Arthur ignored him. He started to suck, tongue flat against his cock as he moved his lips. His hand moved from Francis’ shaft to his balls, palming and rolling them against the heel. Francis let out a breathy chuckle.

“To think, a month prior you were a complete amateur when it came to sucking cock,” he cooed, and cigar smoke wafted into the air as he drew in another breath of it. “You can be a fast learner when you want to be, _mon lapin_.”

Giving no sign that he was listening, Arthur pulled back and ran his tongue across his lips. His mouth was starting to dry. Bringing up his other hand, he started stroking Francis’ cock instead, rubbing the weeping tip with his thumb and squeezing as he jerked him off. He waited only long enough for his mouth to get wet enough before diving in again. Saliva was covering his lips, mixed with the ample precum, and it was all too tempting to wipe it away. Instead he resumed sucking Francis’ cock.

Francis’ breath hitched. “ _Dieu_ …” he said under his breath, and the cigar tapped against the windowsill. “Keep this up, _mon_ _lapin_.”

Arthur rubbed his tongue hard against the underside of his cock. He sucked, taking in as much as he dared with each bob of his head and stopping just short of having the tip hit the back of his throat. His jaw ached, but in his mouth Francis was twitching. It couldn’t be much longer now.

Before he could bring Francis to completion, however, his hand grabbed his chin and stilled his mouth. Out of surprise, Arthur’s eyes flew open, and he stared up at Francis.

“Look me in the eyes,” Francis breathed, flushed but stern. “I want to look into your eyes as I cum down your throat.”

He released his chin, and after a pause Arthur moved again. His lips slid up and down Francis’ cock, all while their eyes remained locked together. That seemed to be enough. Francis gritted his teeth and – letting out a strained gasp – he came, spurting cum into Arthur’s mouth.

Every ounce of it was swallowed. Arthur had little choice, taking each gulp without complaint, and only as Francis started to soften in his mouth did he pull back. He panted, a string of drool connecting his bottom lip to the tip of his cock before he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Saliva was still wet on his chin, and he tried to wipe that away too.

It took a moment for Francis to compose himself. He ran his fingers through his hair, heaving a sigh of content, and then looked back down at Arthur. A smirk played onto his face. “You seem to have a situation, _mon_ _lapin_.”

Arthur glanced down. There was a tent in his jeans, and all at once the humiliation flooded him. With the tips of his ears burning red, he pulled down his shirt to conceal it and said, “Who cares? It’ll be gone once I get a look at your face again.”

Francis simply laughed. He put his pants back into order, the cigar held between his fingers and brought back to his mouth once he was finished. All the while Arthur waited. When he didn’t say anything, he curled his hands into fists.

“Tell me why you kissed me.”

“That’s not a very polite way to ask, _mon lapin_.”

Arthur gritted his teeth. “Why did you kiss me?”

His answer was a thoughtful hum. Francis tilted his head back, looking out the window and at the sky. “You know, _mon lapin_ …” He smiled, and stubbed the cigar against the windowsill. The wood hissed as the ashes stained its furnishing. Then he turned back to Arthur, completely at ease with himself and the world.

“I believe it I did it because I could.”

* * *

Alfred stirred in his bed. Light was peaking through his curtains, casting a gentle glow of the early morning across his sheets. With a grunt he rolled onto his back. The space next to him was empty. For a second, he assumed Natasha already left. But a soft clatter made him sit up.

She was still in his room. Wearing only her undone shirt, she stared at the variety of pictures on his wall. She shot a glance in his direction.

“Morning,” Alfred said, stifling a yawn, and rubbed under his eyes. “How long’ve you been up?”

“Not for long,” she replied, tracing her fingers across a dark picture frame. “Who is this?”

“Hm?” Alfred craned his neck to get a better look. The picture Natasha was asking about was part of his police academy graduation photos. In it stood Arthur and he, in fresh pressed navy blues and hands brought up in a salute. He remembered his mom asking them to pose that way for the picture. “That’s my partner. I told you ‘bout him yesterday.”

He slid his legs out of bed and stretched his arms above his head. “I can make us some coffee. I’ll try not to give you diabetes.”

Natasha hadn’t taken her eyes of the picture frame. “Yes,” she finally said with a small smile. “Coffee would be nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know how many acceptable synonyms there are for 'penis'? 
> 
> Not many.


	14. Forensics

Alfred went into work exhausted and hungover. Even his nights with Natasha weren’t enough to distract him anymore. All he could think of was the case, and when he wasn’t thinking about the case, it was because he was drinking. Last night, he’d helped himself to at least five shots of ‘not thinking.’

He sat down at his desk, rubbing the side of his head and praying that all he had today was paperwork. For once the idea of sitting at his desk all day didn’t seem like a punishment. But sadly, he hadn’t even sat down for two minutes before the door to Hedervary’s office swung open.

“Jones!” she called across the room, and Alfred winced. “In my office!”

With a frustrated groan, Alfred got back to his feet and shuffled over. He vowed to grab a large cup of coffee before heading out to do whatever it was she had assigned for him. Once inside, he frowned and shut the door. “What’s up?”

“I need you to head down to homicide,” Elizabeta said, sitting down at her desk. She, too, looked worse for wear. The cases were weighing on all of them. When Alfred stiffened, she was quick to add: “It’s not Arthur. There’s still no sign of him. But Detective Machado told me it was urgent that you get down there.”

It had to be related to Arthur and the other murders. Carlos wouldn’t have called his captain otherwise. Alfred gave a stiff nod, and opened her office door. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll update you on the situation once I get there.”

“See that you do,” she said, and he stepped back into the station.

* * *

The homicide unit was bustling with people. Officers and detectives scurried around, with Alfred standing in the doorway and searching for a familiar face. He only stood there for about a minute before Carlos appeared in front of him.

“Hey,” Carlos said, with an exhausted grin on his face and dark circles beneath his eyes. Alfred was glad he grabbed a second cup of coffee on the way over.

“Long night?” he asked, handing off the cup to him. Carlos took it gratefully, taking a heavy drink before nodding.

“We had a breakthrough. Figured I’d give your captain a call and have you sent over.”

“I appreciate it,” Alfred said, following Carlos down the hall and towards the basement where the coroners worked. The sterile air and stench of formaldehyde hit his nose within the first few steps into the hall. He resisted the urge to gag. “Fuck, how do you get used to this stuff?”

“We don’t,” called out the coroner, a short Japanese man. There were just as prominent bags under his eyes as well. He stood beside the slab, having just finished pulling the sheet over Mei’s body.

Carlos gestured to him once they entered the main room. “Alfred, this is Doctor Kiku Honda. He’s the coroner in charge of your cases’ stiffs.”

Kiku shook Alfred’s hand, and then turned to head over to his work station. “So,” he said, “an undercover operation? Don’t get to hear about many of those.”

“I’d hope not,” Alfred said, and then glanced down at his coffee cup. “Shit. Want me to grab you some? I saw a machine upstairs.”

“No,” Kiku said, shaking his head. “I’m worried I’ll accidentally poison myself with formaldehyde if I ever bring a drink down here.” He peeled off his gloves and tossed them into the trash. Alfred wiped his hand on the front of his jacket. “Besides, who wants to drink anything after draining out all the fluids from a corpse?”

“Point taken.” Alfred avoided looking at the still bloody scale dangling beside the sink. “So what’d you find?”

Kiku washed his hands in the sink, before jerking his head towards a microscope. “Look in there.” Alfred did as told, heading over and peering into the lens. It took a second or two before his brows lifted.

“Is that a microchip?”

“A tracking one,” Carlos elaborated, and gave a wry grin. “Incredibly small, and incredibly illegal.”

Alfred straightened up. “No shit. Does it have a serial number?”

“Yes,” Kiku replied, shaking his hands and then drying them with a towel. He pulled on a new pair of gloves as he walked over. “After a bit of research, we narrowed it down to a unique brand that’s mainly popular in southern European human traffickers.”

“Mostly Italy and its immediate neighbors,” Carlos said, “ _but_ there is a group here on the east coast that uses them.”

His heart jumped in his chest. “The same group that has Arthur?”

“You guessed it.” Carlos walked over to the counter and picked up a folder. He walked over and handed it to Alfred. “We did some digging and called for you after we got enough information. Turns out, this Manhattan ring you’re trying to bust used to be part of a larger Italian mafia group. But then it broke off about seven years ago and relocated here after the death of its leader.”

Alfred flipped open the folder. “Is this him?”

“Yeah, that’s their former leader: Romolo Vargas – although at the time he went by the pseudonym ‘Romulus.’”

Alfred frowned and turned the page. “So who’s the current one?”

“That’s the thing, we only have rumors and allegations,” Carlos said, and shrugged. “They didn’t figure out Romolo was the leader until _after_ they found his body. Or what was left of it, anyway.”

“Ah,” Alfred said, wrinkling his nose. He’d just reached the autopsy report. “This helps us, though, right?”

“It’s the most promising lead we’ve got,” Kiku said, opening a second folder and showing it to Alfred. “This human trafficking ring has heavy ties with the Chinese drug trade and Russian mafia. Add that to this chip, and it’s possible to figure out a way to contact them for… ah, services.”

Alfred looked up from the folder and stared at Kiku. “You’re serious?” When he nodded, Alfred took a step back in disbelief and snatched the folder from his hands. “That’s… that’s fantastic. I can’t believe it. I…” He trailed off. Carlos was giving him an almost sympathetic stare.

His captain would never let him go in to make contact with Arthur. No, she’d send someone else entirely. It was understandable – and probably a much smarter choice – but Alfred still hated knowing this. Which meant that he had only one option. He looked at Carlos. “Don’t breathe a word of this to my captain.”

Carlos quirked a brow. “Are you serious? You think I can keep something like this quiet for very long? Kiku and I aren’t going to lie to my captain about what we found, you know.”

“I’m not saying you have to lie,” Alfred said. “I’m saying you just have to hold onto this information long enough for me to go in by myself.”

Now Carlos was shocked. His eyes went wide, and his jaw dropped. “No way,” he said, and when Alfred continued to stare at him, completely serious, he went on, “You could lose your badge for pulling a stunt like that. Not to mention it’s fucking _dangerous._ Do you know how high this ring’s body count is?”

“Look, it’s gotta be me, Carlos,” Alfred said, setting down his coffee and waving the two folders at him. “All this info? It only _proves_ Arthur is in danger. If this gets screwed up, my partner is _dead._ Who else could do it better than I could?”

“Maybe someone without such a strong tie with the undercover cop?” Carlos suggested, and at Alfred’s scowl, he sighed. “I get he’s your partner, Alfred, but—”

“He’s _more_ than just my partner, Carlos,” Alfred said firmly. “He’s like a brother to me. And I’ve already lost one brother. I can’t lose the only one I’ve got left.”

There was a long pause. Carlos frowned at him. Alfred could almost see the conflict waging in his head. Both of them were aware of the risks. He could lose his badge, and so could Carlos, if he helped. He glanced over at Kiku, who was remaining silent. “Please,” Alfred said to him. “I’ll take all the blame if shit hits the fan. Just let me do this. It’s because of my stupid temper and idealism that Arthur is even _there_.”

Kiku and Carlos shared a glance. The wait was agonizing, but then, Carlos sighed. “Okay,” he said, and Kiku was nodding too. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. And if _anything_ goes wrong, you’re taking the blame. All of it.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything different,” Alfred said, relieved, and grinned at the two. “Thanks.” Carlos only grunted and turned to Kiku.

“Be thorough. We have to make sure the contact process is legit.”

“Of course,” Kiku said, and headed over to his computer. “I’m not the most skilled with information gathering, but I can pull a few favors. Just give me a couple hours.”

Alfred nodded, and then looked over at the microscope. That tiny piece of plastic was Arthur’s ticket home. He grinned again. “Don’t worry, Artie,” he murmured, “I’m coming soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit! Next chapter should be up within a few days!


	15. Past

An anguished scream cut through the air. Arthur jolted upright in bed, blinking against the harsh light and searching for the source. He recognized the three other people standing in the room. One was Thompson, standing in front of the doorway, and another was Raivis, held by the arm. He was slumped on the floor, hiccupping and sobbing – the source of the cry. Across from them both was an infuriated Feliks.

“What’s going on?” Arthur asked, getting to his feet.

Feliks turned his head. “They’re taking Raivis away,” he said, “and I’m not letting them!”

Thompson’s scowl deepened. “He’s being relocated,” he stated, only to have Raivis wail a second time. He shook his arm roughly, and snapped, “Shut up! Fucking crybaby.”

Shock rendered Arthur speechless for only a second. But then he joined Feliks’ side, and squared his shoulders as he stared down Thompson. Unsurprisingly, the much stockier man wasn’t impressed. “Why is he being taken away?”

“Because the boss said so, that’s why,” Thompson replied, curling his lip. “I don’t have to explain his actions to his cocksleeve.”

“You _can’t!_ ” Feliks looked from the sobbing Raivis back to Thompson. “We’ve been together for years. He _needs_ me!”

“Oh, does he?” Thompson rolled his eyes. “He’s old enough to not be such a clingy little twat.”

Arthur glanced at Feliks. His hands were balled up and shaking at his sides. At any moment he looked ready to pounce at Thompson. Not wanting to risk it, Arthur placed a hand on Feliks’ shoulder. He flinched, but didn’t shake off his hand.

His heart clenched, and he frowned at Thompson. “Let me speak to Francis,” he said, and when Thompson scoffed, he went on, “Please. Perhaps we can think of something else. He _has_ to understand.”

On the floor, Raivis continued to blubber, covering his face in his hands and shaking. Thompson shot a disgusted look down at him. Then he glared at Arthur. “You know what? Fine. Knock yourself out.” He stepped to the side – yanking Raivis with him – and gestured at the hall. “He’s on his way down here right now.”

The elevator dinged as the doors slid open. Arthur almost jumped out of his skin, and he darted for the doorway. Peering out, it was clear that Francis was indeed heading for them. Their gazes locked for a moment, and Francis quirked a brow, perplexed. Arthur waited as he approached, the tightness in his chest not disappearing.

Francis stopped in front of the door, looking at each of them in turn. His gaze lingered on the sniffling Raivis. “Is there a problem?” he asked Thompson.

“Yeah,” Thompson said, and nodded his head in turn at Feliks and Arthur. “These two are making a fuss about the relocation.”

Francis wasn’t amused. “I don’t see how these two are stopping you at all,” he said, and Arthur blanched.

“You’re not even going hear us out?” Arthur stood between Francis and Thompson, his eyes narrowed. “You can’t take Raivis away. There has to be something else you can do! Take someone else, or…” He scrambled for an idea. “Take Feliks with! You don’t need to separate them!”

All he got was a sigh. “ _Mon lapin_ , you have no idea how these things work,” Francis said, and he gave Thompson a nod. With a cry, Raivis was yanked to his feet, and Thompson shoved Arthur out of the way. They started down the hall towards the elevator, Raivis dragging his feet and squirming the entire way.

“Feliks!” he wailed, and his friend made a dash for the hall.

“Raivis, I’m—”

In a swift motion Francis grabbed Feliks by the collar and tossed him against the wall. He gasped and then slumped, clutching his chest. Arthur turned in time to see Thompson disappear into the elevator with Raivis. He rounded on Francis, anger coursing through him.

“How could you do this? Raivis is just a boy! If Feliks says he needs him, then—”

Francis silenced him with an icy glare. “You don’t know how this works, _mon lapin_ ,” he said, “there is no room for compassion here. It’s a business.”

“ _People_ aren’t a business, Francis!” Arthur shouted.

His eyes narrowed, and for a second Arthur wondered if he’d stepped over the line. But then Francis sighed, shaking his head and looking over at Feliks. “Get up,” he ordered the teen, who had silent tears streaming down his cheeks. “And return to your room. This outburst _will_ be discussed later.”

Feliks pulled himself upright, leaning against the wall with shaking shoulders. Without a word he walked back into the room. The bedsprings squeaked as he sat down inside.

Francis looked back to Arthur. “And you,” he went on, “will be coming with me.”

* * *

He was on the top floor. Arthur sat in an uncomfortable chair in front of a desk, right in the middle of a large office with a massive window taking up an entire wall. Francis led him up here and sat him down without a word, and was now pouring himself a glass of wine.

He held up a second glass and glanced at Arthur. “Wine?” he asked, and Arthur shook his head. He’d prefer to stay sober when in Francis’ office. Everything about the room had him on edge, despite how at a glance, it looked like any other private office. There was a bookshelf against one wall and a single floor lamp, casting a warm glow onto an imported Persian rug. Most of the light appeared to come in from the window, however, which revealed that it was early morning. He could clearly see out onto the harbor, the Atlantic spanning far into the horizon.

Francis sat down across from him, glass in hand, and stared at him for a moment in silence. Arthur met his gaze without hesitation. “Why did you bring me here?” he eventually asked.

“To tell you something,” Francis said, and when Arthur frowned, he added, “about myself.”

That caught his interest. Arthur leaned forward in his seat. “Alright,” he said, with a smidgen of caution. “I’m listening.”

Francis gave him a dry smile. “Good to know,” he said, and took a sip of his wine. There was another drawn out silence; one that Arthur sat through with dwindling patience.

“I used to be a lot like you, Arthur,” he finally said, sitting back in his chair and running a finger around the rim of his glass. “Naïve, compassionate. I saw the world in black and white, with no gray areas in between.

“When I was younger, I was in medical school, training to be a doctor,” Francis went on, “and one day, as a student interning at a hospital, I saved a man’s life. A gunshot wound in his stomach.” He paused. “You know him as Thompson.”

Arthur frowned. “Was this before or after you realized you were a complete bastard?”

A humorless snort. “Remember I don’t _have_ to share this with you, _mon lapin_. I’m choosing to.” When Arthur went silent, Francis took another sip of wine and continued, “A month later I was contacted by an anonymous source requesting private medical care. They offered the payment up front, and, being naïve, I accepted it without question.

“They had me meet them at an indiscreet building. Thompson was there, and so was another man. ‘Romulus,’ although that wasn’t his real name. They needed me to perform a surgery.” Francis paused. “An emergency C-section.”

Arthur dug is fingers into his pants. “I see.”

Francis shrugged. “The money was good. I performed the surgery and got a pat on the back from Romulus, who then asked me for my indiscretion. I agreed.

“I was the on-call and unofficial doctor for his business, which I’m assuming you can guess what it was.” He drank more wine, and then placed his glass on his desk. “I didn’t ask questions. I took the money and did what was asked. I set broken limbs, treated split lips and supplied pain medication for severe bruising. In fact, I might not have gotten further involved if it weren’t for…” He trailed off.

“A fatter paycheck?” Arthur quipped, and Francis shot a glare at him.

“It wasn’t about the money back then,” he said, “or at least, it wasn’t the only reason. If I turned them down, they’d go to someone else. I thought I could at least assure that their product received the best care possible.”

“Glad to see that it all worked out,” Arthur muttered.

To his credit, Francis ignored him. “Like I was saying,” he went on, “I used to be like you, Arthur. Compassionate. Very much so. But also…” He sighed. “Incredibly naïve.

“Her name was Jeanne, and she was the love of my life.”

Arthur sat there, and for once, he had absolutely nothing to say. He stared at Francis, who in turn stared down at his wine with an unreadable expression. A long silence passed between them. But then, Francis spoke again.

“She was one of the merchandise. Short hair, the color of golden honey, and her eyes… Oh, they were as deep and mysterious as the ocean itself.” A ghost of a smile drifted onto his lips. “But what drew me to her was that _fire_ inside her. Absolutely magnificent.” He faltered. “She was more of a fighter than you, _mon lapin_. I saw her often.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Arthur asked, cutting him off before he could go on further. The past tense wasn’t lost on him. He paused, and then asked, “What _happened_ to her?”

Francis looked up from his glass. “What do you think happened?

“I fell in love. I tried not to, oh, I desperately fought it. You weren’t supposed to talk to them, let alone grow attached. But she was truly the most magnificent woman I’d ever laid eyes on.” Francis circled his finger around the rim of his glass. “I wanted to help her escape. _Mon trésor_ , she deserved better than that life. So together we plotted an escape. It almost worked. But…”

“They found out,” Arthur finished for him.

Francis nodded. “They dragged me into a room. Kicked me, beat me. But what they did to me was nothing compared to what they did to her.” His voice cracked, and Francis paused, taking a hearty sip of his wine. He took a moment to compose himself before continuing. “They made me watch as Romulus doused her broken body in gasoline and set her on fire.”

The silence was heavy. Arthur didn’t notice his mouth was agape until a few seconds later, closing it, and curling his hands into fists. He was stunned – and much to his own shock, sympathetic. “I…”

Francis held up a hand to silence him. “You’re probably wondering how I went from a love-struck and foolish man to what I am today. Well, I’ll tell you how.” His eyes locked with Arthur’s, cold and steely. “I killed Romulus. As for how, I’ll leave the details to your imagination, but…” He leaned forward in his seat.

“For every second Jeanne was in agony, Romulus suffered for hours.”

A chill went up Arthur’s spine. “But that doesn’t explain—”

“I took over his business,” Francis stated simply, “or risked having his men come after me in retribution. I earned their respect and fear by killing the only man that would make them question it.” He stared at Arthur long and hard. “Do you understand what I’m telling you, _mon lapin_?”

“I’m not sure if I do,” Arthur said.

“Then let me make it clear.” Francis set down his glass. It was empty. “Your compassionate heart and naïve beliefs will either crumble to dust with time, or they will get you killed.”

After a long pause, Arthur frowned. “I don’t believe that.”

Francis barked out a laugh. “Does it matter if you believe me or not?” he asked, and instead of letting Arthur answer, he shook his head. “You’ll learn the hard way, _mon lapin_. The world is a crueler place than you know.”

He waved a hand at him dismissively. “Go. Wang will bring you back to your room.”

Arthur didn’t say another word as he got to his feet. He hesitated, staring at Francis. He wasn’t looking at him anymore. But his posture told he was waiting for him to leave. With an apprehensive knot in his stomach, he turned and went for the door. In the hall, Wang stood there waiting for him. He led him to the elevator, and they began their descent into the basement once again. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honesty time: I had this written a few days ago. BUT I like to spread out my chapters by at least a couple of days. Lucky for you guys, I decided not to wait until tomorrow to post this!


	16. Customer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merged two chapters together, that's why there's still only sixteen! So don't worry. Nothing got deleted. Just squished together.

Arthur helped Feliks tend to his still swollen eye. They sat on the now-empty bed in their room, with Feliks staring at his feet and hardly wincing when the cold washcloth pressed against his face. There was little they could do otherwise, but Arthur was compelled to help. There’d been nothing he could do to stop Raivis from being taken away.

A few days passed since then. Arthur tried not to dwell on what Francis told him. But whenever it was quiet, his mind wandered, and of course, it always went straight to the last thing he wanted to think about.

He kept himself busy with Feliks, who was now reclusive and somber. The response to his outburst wasn’t kind, but he was lucky to get a black eye as the worst of it. After what happened with Mei, Arthur couldn’t predict what sort of punishments would be dealt out.

Feliks pushed his hand away, and Arthur frowned. “Feliks,” he said, “we need to keep the swelling down.”

“Who cares?” Feliks asked, and some of his limp hair fell in front of his face.

“I do,” Arthur replied, and when Feliks didn’t speak, he went on: “You can’t fall apart. You need to be strong.”

“Easy for you to say,” Feliks said, choking on a harsh laugh. “You haven’t been here that long.”

Arthur paused. He then sighed and said, “You’re right. But you can’t let this break you.”

Again, all he didn’t get a response. Arthur chose not to speak further, instead pushing Feliks’ hair out of the way and pressing the damp cloth to his eye again. He held it there until the cloth was no longer cold. After that, he tossed it aside and checked Feliks’ eye. “You’re going to be bruised for awhile,” he told Feliks, and patted him on the shoulder. “But as long as we keep treating it with a cold cloth every now and then, it should be gone in a week or so.”

Feliks grunted in response. Arthur stood up, grabbing the washcloth and ready to put it away. But before he could get far, the door to the room swung open. Wang stepped in. As per usual, a small frown knitted his brows together.

“You,” Wang said, and nodded to Arthur. “Come on. You have customer.”

He stared. Two heartbeats passed, and, believing he misheard, Arthur said, “I’m sorry?”

“You have customer,” Wang repeated, an annoyed scowl twitching at his mouth. “Let’s go.”

Arthur glanced at Feliks, who stared back at him just as confused. He never got customers. He hadn’t before, and with Francis’ fixation on him, he didn’t expect to. “But,” he said, trailing off. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does not have to,” Wang replied, and jerked his thumb to the hall. “Come on. Do not make us wait.”

Albeit hesitant, Arthur headed for the door. He stole one last look back at Feliks – who simply watched him go, stunned into silence – and headed into the hall. Wang brought him to the elevator, and after the doors slid open, he asked, “Why all of a sudden? I thought—”

“Whatever you thought,” Wang interrupted, “was wrong. Now be quiet.”

* * *

A burlap hood was placed over his head before he was shoved into the backseat of a car. Arthur hissed, his head smacking against a metal bar on the floor, and he struggled to sit up. It was a challenge, however, with his hands cuffed in front of him.

At first he assumed it was only him and Wang in the car. But then the passenger door opened with a click and someone slipped onto the seat. A whiff of sweet cigar smoke drifted across his nose. “I didn’t know leeches went outdoors,” Arthur said under his breath. In the seat in front of him, the telltale chuckle of Francis rang out.

“I knew we shouldn’t have bothered with the burlap,” Francis quipped.

“Why are _you_ coming along?” Arthur asked.

“Quality assurance.”

There was more of an edge to his words than usual. Arthur frowned, and instead of speaking again, he stayed quiet. Something about Francis’ tone warned him against interrogating right now.

Francis didn’t seem to mind the quiet.

He focused on the car instead. The last thing he needed to do right now was worry about Francis. Every time the car took a turn, each time it stopped: he made a mental note. About thirty minutes in, though, his heart sank. They were going in circles. Three right turns brought them right back to where they were a few minutes prior. He swore under his breath.

“Don’t sound so disappointed, _mon lapin_ ,” Francis said without warning, causing Arthur to start. “Do you really think we’re that amateur?”

He’d anticipated it. Hell, he’d even gone as far to listen for any sign Arthur was tracking their path. Arthur held back a sigh.

It wasn’t long before the car rolled to a stop. Seatbelts clicked, and Francis’ door opened first. Arthur sat completely still, and when the door opened next to him, he didn’t fight as he was pulled out. Instead, he resumed listening.

What started out as empty silence soon grew into distant car horns, indistinct chatter, and the soft crashing of waves. Arthur took in a deep breath. Fresh air filled his lungs – and with it, the smell of cigarettes, garbage, and salt.

Francis dragged him over a few steps before Wang joined them. They went through a door, shoes clapping as the floor changed from cement to tile. A blast of air conditioning sent an involuntary shiver down Arthur’s back. The inside smelled surprisingly better than the outside. No garbage, and instead of cigarettes, an almost floral scent tickled his nose.

They reached a set of stairs. Arthur almost tripped on the first flight, and they ended up ascending five. By the time they reached their designated floor, his legs burned with each step, and he swore to never take elevators for granted again.

There was some shuffling as Francis dug around in his pocket. Arthur strained his ears, and it wasn’t until a faint click sounded right after that he figured out what he’d searched for. Once Francis put his keycard back into his pocket, he opened the employee-access doors and brought them into a carpeted hall.

It was silent in a way only highly established hotels could be. Not a peep could be heard from the rooms they walked past. Arthur turned his head this way and that, but the burlap made it pointless. As it was he could hardly see what color the walls were.

Francis pulled on his shoulder, halting him in place. Before he could question why, he yanked off the burlap. Arthur squinted as light hit his eyes. “Be good now, _mon lapin_ ,” Francis said, patting him on the cheek to catch his attention. Wang stood just behind him, watching with a small frown. “It would be a shame if even after all your training you’re _still_ useless in bed.”  

He curled his lip. “So you’re really sending me in?”

“Oh, believe me, _mon lapin_ …” Francis leaned close, and spoke hardly above a whisper. “If circumstances were different, you wouldn’t be here.” He straightened, leaving Arthur to his perplexed frown, and turned. As he went back down the hall, Wang stepped forward.

“Behave,” Wang said, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t want to find out what we do when a customer isn’t satisfied.”

Raivis crying and with bruises on his throat came to mind. “I think I have a general idea.”

Wang sniffed, and pulled his copy of a keycard from his pocket. He unlocked the door, and then held it open. With a wordless glare, he ordered Arthur inside.

Arthur stepped into the room. He was too focused on bracing himself for the worst to take in its appearance. His heart hammered against his chest, and a tight knot sat heavy in his gut. Every natural instinct told him to fight whomever was waiting for him in there. But that would be suicidal. After Mei, he was on thin enough ice as it was.

The ‘gentleman’ sitting on the bed had his back to him. His leg was bouncing, and the coat he hadn’t even taken off was too big, sagging around his wrists. Arthur stood warily, and – uncertain what else to do, and wanting to get this over with – cleared his throat.

The man snapped his head around, and in an instant, Arthur’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“ _Alf—_ ”

Alfred leapt to his feet and cleared the room in an instant, slapping his hand over Arthur’s mouth. “Ssh!” He glanced past him and at the door. Then he whispered to Arthur: “They could be listening.”

Arthur could only stare. He grabbed his wrist and pulled it away. “What the fuck are you _doing_ here?”

Alfred’s eyes switched from the door to him. His brows quirked, and then he mustered a lopsided grin. “Uh, long story?”

“Don’t you pull that shit with me,” Arthur said, but looked back at the door. Wang could be right on the other side. Biting his tongue, he pushed Alfred back over to the bed and as far from the door as they could get. They sat down, and after a period of bewildered silence, Arthur spoke up. “How?”

Alfred tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. “How what?”

“How did you _get_ here? How did you—” Arthur raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know; how did you arrange this?”

“Again,” Alfred said. “It’s a long story.” He turned and faced him, expression grim. “Listen, Artie. It doesn’t matter how I got here. The point is I had to contact you.”

“You were supposed to wait until Tim arranged a meeting.”

“Tim is _dead_ ,” Alfred said, and when Arthur jerked, his shoulders sagged. “So you really didn’t know. Fuck, Artie, you’re up the shittiest creek without even a goddamn canoe.”

“What do you mean Tim’s dead?” Arthur asked, still in disbelief. “What happened?”

“It was them,” Alfred said, jerking his thumb at the hall. “They’re on to something, Artie. We don’t know if they killed Tim because he was a police informant or what. Hedervary thought it was a coincidence, but after we found that girl—”  

“Mei,” Arthur said, his voice cracking, and he slumped, holding his head in his hands. Alfred stared at him, shock etched into his face. “It’s my fault she’s dead, Alfred. I told her I was a cop and she—”

“You _what_?” Alfred grabbed Arthur by the shoulders. “Why did you do that, Artie? She could’ve ratted you out!”

“She did,” Arthur said. “And that’s why she’s dead. They thought she was lying, and so they…” He took in a deep breath. “They killed her. It’s my fault. I made a mistake, and a girl is dead because of it.”

Alfred didn’t speak for a long time. He sat there, and after a minute, he pulled his hands off Arthur’s shoulders. He inhaled shakily. “Fuck.”

“I know.” Arthur sat up. He composed himself, taking in a deep breath and swallowing back his shame. “So why are you here? Why did you have to contact me?”

“To make sure you were still alive,” Alfred said, and pressed his hand on his leg to stop its bouncing. “We have to get you out of here, Artie. It’s not safe for you to be undercover anymore.”

“So, what?” Arthur gestured at him. “Do you plan to break me out of here? Shoot anyone that gets in your way? Or are you bugged, and are several cop cars on the way as we speak?”

Alfred’s mouth tightened at the corners. “Uh.” He looked away. “About that. Hedervary doesn’t actually know I’m here.”

“Are you _serious_?”

“Look, she would’ve had to go through all the paperwork and political bullshit, and by the time we actually _got_ to you, you could’ve been dead!” Alfred threw his hands up. “What did you expect me to do, Artie? Sit with my thumb up my ass and do nothing?”

“Yes,” Arthur replied, a dry edge to his voice. “That’s what I would’ve preferred.”

His huffed. “You know what? You can chew me out later. We probably don’t have a ton of time.” Alfred stole another look at the door. “I don’t have anything on me, but now that I know you’re alive and how to contact you, we can work something out with Hedervary to get you out of here.”

“If she doesn’t suspend you for this,” Arthur retorted, and when Alfred glared at him, he sighed. “Okay. What do you have in mind?”

“I was thinking we try meeting up again, but this time, I’ll have back-up. I can put a tracking device on you or something, and then when you go back to wherever you’re being kept, we’ll have a location. Then, we can storm the place.”

“Don’t _storm_ the place,” Arthur said, frowning. “There are a lot of innocent people there. _Victims_ , Alfred.”

“Ah, shit. I forgot.” Alfred rubbed the back of his neck, and then went on: “So we’ll be careful. Do you know how many people there are there?”

“At the very least there’s a dozen.”

“Fuck. I’ll be sure to let Hedervary know. I’m sure she’ll think of a way.”

“You know, this plan if fine and all,” Arthur said, “but I doubt I’ll be able to meet with you again any time soon. And if things are as dangerous as they are—”

“—we won’t have the luxury of time,” Alfred finished for him, and swore under his breath. “Shit. There isn’t any other way I can get to you, is there?”

Arthur opened his mouth, but then stopped. He stared at Alfred for a long moment, the gears in his head turning. _He_ couldn’t visit Alfred again without arousing suspicion. But someone else could; someone that, unlike Mei, he could trust.

“There is.” When Alfred gave him a dubious frown, Arthur leaned forward and said, “I have a friend on the inside. He’s been there a long time. I can ask him to meet with you in my place.”

Alfred continued to frown, doubtful, and said, after a pause, “I dunno, Artie… That’s a huge risk. And what happened with Mei—”

“Mei was a huge gamble,” Arthur said, and clenched his fists. “A gamble I lost. But he’s different. Out of everyone there, I think he’d be the last to turn me in to save his own skin.”

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck again. It was a heavy thing to consider. This gamble was even more risky than what it’d been with Mei. He bit his bottom lip before sighing long and hard. “Fuck, Artie,” he said, and leaned back. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“That’s my line,” Arthur replied with a slight grin. “So how do I make sure he gets sent to you? How did you even get in contact with me?”

“A lot of bullshitting,” Alfred said, and shrugged his shoulders. “When you book a room here, there’s apparently a ‘promotional upgrade’ you can ask for afterwards. On the bill, it’s put down as a few spaced out room service charges. If not for a, uh, friend, I wouldn’t have figured it out.”

“How did you get _me_ specifically?”

“I asked for a natural blond guy with an English accent.” When Arthur blanched, he rolled his eyes and said, “Look, it was as specific as I could get without outright asking for you by name. The man on the phone taking the ‘request’ sounded all too happy to set me up.”

Arthur curled his lip. “You must’ve spoke with Thompson.”

“Who?”

“I’ll tell you about him later. Will you be able to be able to book this same room again?”

“Probably. The hotel isn’t exactly packed.”

“Good,” Arthur said, nodding. “Then I can tell him to go for the ‘service’ in this room. It might take some convincing, but I know he’ll help us.”

“What’s his name, anyway?”

“Oh, it’s—” A loud knock on the door cut him off. Both of them turned to look, and then a muffled voice came from the other side:

“Housekeeping!”

“Shit,” Alfred grumbled, and got to his feet. He shrugged out of his jacket in a single motion, and shuffled over to the door, undoing his belt in the process. Arthur watched him, confused up until he opened the door and peered out just enough. To an unsuspecting eye, he looked like a man who rushed to throw on clothes. “I’m a bit busy,” he said, and the hotel worker in the hall muttered a hasty apology. When he shut the door, he turned back to Arthur and started to put his belt back together.

“Looks like our time is almost up.”

“Looks like it,” Arthur said, and got to his feet. “I’m going to jump in the shower.”

Alfred quirked a brow. “What for?”

“So it looks like I tried to wash away sex,” Arthur said blandly, and his partner turned red at the tips of his ears.

“Oh. Right.” He watched him head for the bathroom, only to stop him as he passed with a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, uh, Artie.” He hesitated, and then gave his shoulder a squeeze. “About that. Did they—”

“Yes,” Arthur said. Alfred didn’t need to say it. What he wanted to know was obvious.  

There was a brief silence. “Do you want to talk about it?” Alfred asked.

“Not now,” Arthur said, and shrugged off his hand. “Not until this is all over.”

* * *

Arthur believed it was sheer luck that no one questioned him about what happened in the hotel room. The ride back to the building was uneventful, with Francis filling the car with a chilly silence. By the time he was back in the room, his hair hadn’t even dried from the shower, and he was left there alone. Feliks was absent, but that was for the best. The lights were flicked off, and he laid down in his bed, waiting.

At some point he managed to doze off. Odds were it was only about twenty minutes. But he wasn’t alone when he woke up.

“How’d it go?” Matt asked from the bed beside him.

Arthur sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “You know about it already?”

“Feliks told me,” Matt said. “It was kind of a surprise. None of us thought you’d actually be brought to a customer.”

“Funny thing about that,” Arthur said, and paused, listening for any sign of activity in the hall. It was dead silent. Relieved, he went on in a hushed tone, “It wasn’t a customer. It was a detective.”

“A _what_?” Matt sat forward and the mattress creaked. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, and when Matt answered him with disbelieving silence, he let out a breath. “He wants to help us escape. All of us. He wants our help finding this place and taking everyone responsible down.”

“It’s a trick,” Matt said. “They’re testing you, after what happened with Mei. Going along with it is only going to get us into trouble, Arthur. It could get you _killed_. Fuck, it could get all of us killed.”

“It won’t,” Arthur replied, insistent, and leaned forward. “I know he’s the real deal. This is our chance.”

“How do you know this, Arthur? How are you so sure?”

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek. “Because I know him. He’s my partner.”

A silence drew out. The darkness – usually a blessing – was now a curse. He couldn’t see Matt’s face; how he was processing the information. When he finally spoke, there was a steeliness to his tone that made Arthur flinch.

“So Mei wasn’t lying.”

The accusation wasn’t missed. It really was his fault Mei was dead. Now his guilt was clear to Matt. Arthur dug his fingers into the mattress. “No, she wasn’t.”

Again the silence followed. He wished he could see Matt, but at the same time, he was glad he couldn’t. “It was a mistake to tell her. But I know I’m not making a mistake telling you.”

“Why?” Matt asked. “Why are you even telling me?”

“Because I trust you,” Arthur said, and when Matt didn’t respond, he went on, “I can’t meet with him again soon enough. Not without raising suspicion. But I know you can, Matt. Please. You’re the only one I can ask to do this.”

“Why me?” Matt finally said, and the bitterness to his words wasn’t missed.

“You’ve got everything to gain and nothing to lose.”

“Except my life.”

Arthur gritted his teeth. “That won’t happen. My partner knows what he’s doing.”

More silence. Arthur waited, anxious for Matt to respond. There were a lot of risks for Matt if he accepted. Everything rested on him. Without Matt, there was no way to meet with Alfred, and they’d be back to square one – if he survived that long.

The mattress groaned. Matt shifted, sighing with the weight of everything placed on his shoulders, and gave Arthur his answer at last. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Arthur. Not yet.” Matt leaned forward. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^)
> 
> Edit 6/15/2016: I realize this has been a super long wait for an update! But I promise I'm working on another chapter! I'm working on my portfolio pieces for my classes, and they've taken up so much of my concentration that I haven't had the time to work on this fic! But don't worry! I promise it will be out soon!


	17. Promise

“This whole blindfold thing is incredibly cliché,” Arthur said. He was woken up in the dead of night and none too pleased by it. That it was Francis who did it only added to his irritation.

Francis gave the center of his back another push to keep him moving. “Everything about me is cliché, _mon lapin_ ,” he said, and chuckled. “From my thick accent to my sexual appetite.”

“You’re the one saying that. Not me.” Arthur turned his head and squinted against the blindfold. It was worse than the burlap. Granted it didn’t have a stale smell, but not even a trace of light peeked through. Bumping into a wall would’ve happened at least once if Francis wasn’t there to guide him.

“You haven’t asked me where we’re headed,” Francis pointed out after a pause. “It’s rather out of character for you.”

“Well, you’d just give me an evasive answer anyway. So I figured: why bother?” He was jerked to a stop. “Are we here?”

“ _Oui_.”

A lock clicked open, and Arthur was nudged forward again. His bare feet met with carpet, and his surprise left him unprepared for when Francis pulled off the blindfold. Harsh light caused him to squint, and then he took it all in. A bedroom; simple, but undeniably so.

“Do you _sleep_ here?” he asked, and shot an incredulous frown at Francis.

“Only on occasion,” Francis answered. “You can’t expect me to constantly commute.”

“I actually assumed you and your thugs all lived here.”

Francis barked out a laugh. “Oh, of course not! Penthouse suite, _mon lapin_ , with a stunning view of the ocean.” He glanced over and grinned. “Or was it a mansion in the countryside? I can never keep track.”

“Ah yes, _do_ brag about your wealth,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “It simply adds to my already stellar view of you.”

Another laugh. Francis pushed him further into the room and shut the door behind them. “You should be grateful, you know,” he said, “I’ll be fucking you on a real bed for a change.”

Arthur’s stomach rolled and his lips twisted into a scowl. “Oh, of course. Why _else_ would I get dragged out of bed at this godless hour?”

“Certainly not for your company,” Francis quipped, and pushed Arthur onto the bed. The mattress groaned, and as Arthur attempted to sit up on his elbows, he simply pushed him down onto his back. He unbuttoned his shirt, and right before he reached the last one, Arthur looked away.

“ _Mon lapin_ , look at me.”

“I’d rather not.”

The mattress dipped, and Francis’ hand grabbed his chin. With a harsh grip, he turned his face forward and forced him to look into his eyes. The stony look morphed back into a cool grin. “That’s better.”

When he released his chin and sat back, Arthur didn’t look away again. Instead he watched Francis shrug out of his shirt, tossing it to the side before moving on to his. He didn’t say a word – not until Francis spoke up.

“You’re awfully pensive,” he said, and when Arthur frowned, he chuckled. “Or am I wrong? Either way, you’re quieter than usual.” He pushed Arthur’s shirt up and over his head, throwing it aside. His fingertips dragged down his chest. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know,” Arthur muttered, and then winced as Francis dug his nails into his skin.

“Don’t test my patience, _mon lapin_.”

“Fine,” Arthur said, eyes narrowing. “I was thinking about Jeanne.”

That got Francis to pause. “Oh?”

“She’d be rather disappointed in you, wouldn’t she?”

For a fleeting instant, Francis’ brows knitted together. It wouldn’t have been a surprise – if Arthur didn’t catch how cold his eyes were. But as quick as it came, it vanished, and the creases smoothed. “She’s dead, _mon lapin_ ,” Francis finally said. “It hardly matters now.”

“What happened to her being the love of your life?” Arthur asked, refusing to be dismissed so easily. “She’s what put you here. Don’t you think she’d hate to see what you’ve become?”

Francis didn’t respond right away. He was still, staring down at Arthur with his unreadable expression. But then he sighed. “ _Mon lapin_ , you think too much about these things.”

“Or do you not think about them enough?”

All he got was a quiet scoff. Then Francis moved to his pants, yanking them down to his ankles and tossing them. But when he reached for the band of his boxers, he paused. Arthur watched in wary silence.

After what seemed like several minutes – but was likely a few seconds – Francis sat back on his knees. “I’ve been greedy.”

“I’m sorry?” Arthur couldn’t mask his incredulous tone.

“In bed,” Francis added, and when Arthur curled his mouth in disgust, he merely grinned. “Oh, _mon lapin_ , have I been very, very greedy. Not once did I think about what _you_ would like.”

“Clearly, since you never stopped.”

Francis ignored him as if he hadn’t spoke. “I don’t like being a selfish lover. Maybe I should—“

“Excuse me, a selfish _what_?”

“—do something different for a change,” Francis finished, and his grin slid into a smirk. He leaned forward again, his hands gliding up Arthur’s stomach and up his chest. Resting his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck, he sighed. “You’re tense.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Arthur said, fixing his gaze on the ceiling.

Francis nipped at his throat, causing Arthur to wince. “Perhaps you can keep your sarcastic comments to yourself this time.” He then started giving light bites across Arthur’s neck, hands wandering up and down his chest.

Arthur scoffed, but didn’t respond. Instead he tried to focus on anything but Francis’ hands. A tight knot of apprehension was settled in his gut. But with each caress and touch, the knot was unwinding. The harder he tried focusing on something else, the more he noticed what Francis did.

His fingers gave gentle touches to old bruises, skittering around their edges and teasing his tender skin. Arthur shivered, and if Francis took notice, he chose not to comment.

Instead his mouth worked at Arthur’s neck, kissing and dragging his teeth along his pulse. Francis slid his hands down further, until they were resting on Arthur’s waist and his thumbs rubbed small circles on his hip bones. He lifted his head enough to glance over and see Arthur’s fingers digging into the sheets. “Enjoying yourself, _mon lapin_?”

“Shut up.”                                           

Francis chuckled and went back to tendering to his throat. He moved one knee between Arthur’s legs, pushing them apart. As he did this, his hands slipped under and grabbed Arthur by the ass. Arthur jolted, and he chuckled. “How jumpy,” he said against the crook of his neck.

“Shut _up_.”

Francis hummed, kneading his ass with deliberate slowness. He kept it up even as Arthur shivered again, giving shaky gasps and tugging hard at the sheets. His mouth moved lower, reaching his collarbone and running his tongue beneath it.

Arthur curled his toes, and his eyes shut tight. It was next to impossible to ignore any of this. He sucked in a breath the further down Francis’ mouth travelled. It wasn’t until he reached the band of his boxers that he managed a: “wait—”

With a swift tug, Francis pulled them down, and leaned back to wrestle them off completely. He looked at Arthur’s crotch and smirked. “You really are enjoying yourself, _mon lapin_.”

Arthur, having opened his eyes, scowled. Having attention brought to his unwilling erection was the last thing he needed. Only when Francis leaned back down did he shut his eyes again, and he gritted his teeth, bracing himself for whatever he did next.

He wasn’t left disappointed. Francis resumed right where he left off, nibbling and sucking the skin above Arthur’s waist. His hands went right back to his ass, this time groping without any restraint now that his boxers weren’t in the way.

A low moan escaped without warning. Arthur almost bit his tongue after, and began cursing himself when Francis paused. He waited for the inevitable comment, the teasing remark that would leave him biting his cheek to prevent a retort. But instead of saying anything, Francis moved down further.

His mouth headed towards his thighs, completely ignoring Arthur’s dick – which was both a blessing and torture. Francis managed to find every sensitive spot, biting and dragging his teeth. Each time a fresh tingle went up his body, Arthur gritted his teeth harsher and dug his fingers into the sheets.

The longer Francis ignored his cock, however, the more frustrated he became. It got to the point that he was fisting the sheets to cope. When one nip got to be too much, he snapped, “For fuck’s sake, can’t you just get this over with?”

Francis stopped again, but instead of moving on he sat up and quirked a brow. “I’m sorry, but are you _asking_ me to fuck you?”

“No,” Arthur said with another scowl. “I’m telling you to get this over with.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Francis smiled, one hand leaving Arthur’s ass and going back to his hip. “I told you I was going to try something different this time.”

“Well, why don’t you try shoving—” Arthur choked on his words. Francis’ hand moved from his hip to his cock without warning, stroking in just the way to make him shiver.

A grin played at Francis’ lips. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Fuck you,” Arthur replied, breathless, and knit his brows together.

Francis wasn’t deterred. He kept on stroking, and his other hand kneaded Arthur’s ass, lifting his hips slightly off the bed with each tug to his cock. His thumb rubbed the tip and smeared the precum as it beaded. He moved fast enough for the build up to be just as bad as the earlier neglect. Arthur tipped his head back, gritting his teeth and tugging at the sheets. The mattress groaned as Francis moved, leaning down so his lips hovered next to his ear.

“Seeing you like this is a gift itself, _mon trésor_ ,” Francis whispered.

Continuing to stroke him, Francis let go of his ass and dug into his pocket. He pulled out a bottle of lubricant, popping off the cover and squeezing a few drops onto his hand. Within a few strokes he had Arthur’s cock coated.

Yet much to Arthur’s chagrin, Francis stopped, and went to work on the last of his clothes. His jeans and briefs were tossed aside, and Arthur caught a glimpse of his hard cock before looking away. Lubricant was poured generously onto his hand and lathered across his own cock.

“My apologies for making you wait,” Francis said in a soft purr, and Arthur, despite his red face and breathlessness, scoffed.

He spread Arthur’s legs further apart, and with the plentiful lube still on his hand, slid two fingers into his ass. Again Arthur shuddered, knowing exactly what to expect next. The bottle was emptied between Francis’ hand and his ass, leaving him dripping wet by the time the empty container was thrown away.

Francis pulled Arthur up by the waist, positioning his cock and gazing at his face with a small smirk. “You look ready to be ravished,” he said.

“Oh, just shut up,” Arthur retorted, and shut his eyes. Francis chuckled. The tip of his cock pressed against Arthur’s asshole, and then he slid inside.

Arthur’s breath hitched. His fingers dug into the sheets so hard it hurt. There wasn’t pain. He learned to relax so there wasn’t. But being filled to the brim was a sensation he couldn’t get used to. Above him, Francis paused for only a moment before pulling back out. He started to thrust, slow and deep.

Each thrust made Arthur gasp, arching his back off the sheets and curling his toes. His skin was hot all over. Francis’ nails dug into his hips, the pinpricks of pain mingling with pleasure.

Francis moved a hand, gliding it up and down his side before grasping his cock. Arthur jolted, breath catching in a gasp, as he started stroking him again. “Oh, fuck,” he said, a particular stroke sending a rush up his spine.

All the while Francis was near silent. His breathing was soft and ragged, hitching now and then as he thrust deep into Arthur’s ass. The build-up was approaching him too fast, and it took all his composure to keep up the slow pace. But Arthur took no notice, too engulfed in his own pleasure.

Francis angled his hips, and his cock struck Arthur’s prostate. Arthur moaned, the sound sending thrills across Francis’ skin. He kept hitting that spot, each cry from Arthur only bringing him closer and closer to the edge. Arthur was in the same state, the combination of getting his cock stroked and his prostate hit starting to be too much. A tense coil grew tighter and tighter in his gut, until it snapped.

Arthur all but yelled as he came, and Francis followed after, letting out a low grunt as he thrust into Arthur one last time before cumming deep into his ass.

The two slumped, gasping for breath. For what felt like an eternity, neither moved, but then Francis pulled out. He sat back on the bed. He moved to run his fingers through his hair, only to pause and notice Arthur’s cum sticking to them. A wry grin turned up his lips. He glanced over at Arthur, whose eyes were shut and head turned away from him. For a moment all he did was stare. But then he slid off the bed and walked over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. 

* * *

 Arthur dozed off. It wasn’t intentional; but being woken up in the dead of night wasn’t his idea to begin with. A quick stumble to the bathroom – Francis was ‘charitable’ enough to let him use it – and then he was out before his head hit the pillow. To his credit, Francis didn’t disturb him. It was only a few hours later that he woke to a voice.

Rolling over, Arthur struggled to wake up fully. He rubbed under his eye with the heel of his hand. Francis sat on the edge of the bed with his back to him. His phone was to his ear, and the caller’s voice was unintelligible. But Francis’ was crystal clear.

“—understand. This is a unique circumstance. I’d like to do this _my_ way.”

Arthur sat up, slow and quiet. He strained to listen to the other voice on the phone. But all he could make out were indistinct mumbles. Francis continued on, either unaware Arthur was awake or not caring.

“I’ll be down to meet with you soon. I’ll bring him along. Have everything ready when I get there.” Francis ended the call with a tap. Arthur continued to stare at him, an uneasy weight in the pit of his stomach.

“My apologies, _mon lapin_ , if I woke you,” Francis said without turning to look at him.

“What was that about?” Arthur asked, not even bothering to hide that he’d been listening.

“You’ll see.” Francis stood from the bed, stretching his arms and putting his phone in his pocket. Then he went for the bathroom. “Get dressed. I have somewhere to take you.”

The uneasy weight grew heavier. Arthur waited until the bathroom door shut before he got up, picking up his discarded clothes from the floor and pulling them on. He needed to get back to his room. Matt promised he’d be back sometime today, and he needed to know how the meeting went. The sooner he could get back to his room to wait for him, the sooner he’d get to figure out their next step.

The bathroom door opened and Francis stepped out, hair brushed and a washcloth in hand, dabbing at his face. His eyes landed on Arthur. “That was fast. Impatient to leave?”

“I always am,” Arthur replied. “So take me wherever it is you want me to go.”

Francis smiled. “Very well.” He beckoned for Arthur to follow him to the door. They went out into the hall, and it was one Arthur almost didn’t recognize. But as they went for the elevator, they passed a door held ajar. A single peek inside showed him the sterile walls of the doctor’s office from before. His gut twisted into a knot.

“Ah, memories,” Francis said, and Arthur shot a scowl at him. His head was turning back forward, and it wasn’t hard to guess that he’d looked at the office too. “Although, I don’t think you recall them as fondly as I do.”

Arthur bit his tongue. He refused to respond. But his silence seemed to be what Francis wanted, as he chuckled and continued on.  

They reached the elevator, and Francis hit the call button as he slipped his key card out of his pocket. Arthur eyed it for a moment before glancing up at him. As the doors slid open, he asked, “Is it your office?”

“It very well could be, _mon lapin_ ,” Francis answered, stepping into the elevator after him and sliding the card into its slot. The doors shut and he hit the button for the top floor. Arthur frowned.

“You’re not going to give me another tragic backstory, are you?”

Francis snorted. “I wouldn’t call it tragic.” When Arthur continued to glare at him, he sighed and went on, “No, you won’t be getting more stories. I’ve told you all that you should know.”

The elevator dinged when they reached the top floor. The two stepped out, and Francis led them down the hall – headed straight for his office. Arthur glanced up at him, expecting some sort of comment. But instead Francis was quiet and staring ahead with a stoic expression. It did nothing but add to the uneasy weight in his stomach.

Francis opened the door to his office and waited for Arthur to step inside. He did, and to his shock, they weren’t alone. Both Thompson and Wang were present. Wang leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed in front of him and a frown on his face. Thompson stood beside the desk, stiff as a board. Both of them stared at Arthur as he came to a stop in the middle of the room. Francis walked around him and sat behind his desk. On it sat a laptop – and Arthur was certain it wasn’t there the last time. He pulled it close to him and opened it up, then gestured for Arthur to take a seat.

“What’s all this?” Arthur asked, his mouth dry, and looked at each of their faces in turn.

“Sit down, _mon lapin_ ,” Francis said with his tone light and a smile playing on his lips. When Arthur didn’t move, he sighed and nodded to Thompson. Thompson marched over and grabbed Arthur by the shoulder, pushing him over to the chair and forcing him down onto it. Arthur rubbed his shoulder and looked back at Francis for an explanation.

“What the hell is all this?”

Francis didn’t answer him again, and instead turned his focus to the laptop. His fingers tapped the keyboard and clicked the pad a few times before he turned the screen to face Arthur.

With a frown, Arthur leaned forward in his seat – and his heart stopped. It was a camera feed, from up in the corner of a room. A hotel room, and not an empty one. Sitting on the bed was Alfred. He had his hands in his jacket pockets and was glancing over at the door, fidgeting in place. The timestamp in the corner of the camera was dated only a few hours prior.

“I don’t…” Arthur stammered, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen. “I don’t understand.”

Francis stood up from his chair. “Do you know what I value the most, _mon lapin_?” he asked, staring at Arthur, and his smile was gone. “Honesty. White lies matter little to me, but _big_ ones… Ones that change your view of a person? Oh, those lies are the _worst_.”

Arthur was reeling. None of it made sense. He’d been so careful. They couldn’t have found out. But then he remembered: Matt. His stomach lurched in horror. Something happened to him. “Francis, I don’t—”

He lifted a hand and silenced Arthur. “Oh, _mon lapin_. Words cannot describe my disappointment.”

The door opened behind them. Arthur turned in his seat, and for a moment, his mind went blank. He couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. It was like a terrible nightmare. One he desperately wanted to wake up from.

It was Alfred, only it wasn’t. He had a good handful of inches on Alfred, but there were undeniable features that they shared: a nose, the eyes. His wavy blond hair hung down almost to his shoulders. It was Arthur’s first time seeing him in person, but years of seeing pictures made him unmistakable.  

“Matthew,” Arthur whispered.

Matt cringed. He stood in the doorway, arms hanging limp at his sides and his face mired with remorse. “I’m sorry, Arthur,” he said, those familiar eyes dull. “You were going to ruin everything.”

_No._ Arthur stared at him. He couldn’t believe it. The faint click of a door opening came from the desk, and Arthur whipped back around to look at the screen. Alfred was getting to his feet, and even through poor quality he could see his face morph into shock. He backed up, and into view walked Arlovskaya. She raised her arm, and Arthur barely had time to register the gun before she fired. Alfred stumbled back with a cry of pain, clutching his arm. He backed out of view of the camera, and Arlovskaya advanced in return. She fired again, and again, and again. Then there was silence. She lowered her gun, and after a moment looked at the camera. She gave it a nod, and the feed went dark.

Arthur didn’t even notice when he started screaming. The chair clattered back as he jumped to his feet, and only when Thompson grabbed him, slapping a hand over his mouth, did he come to his senses. He writhed, unable to stop replaying what happened in his mind. Alfred getting hit in the shoulder; Alfred falling out of view, three gunshots, and then…

Even as he screamed and struggled, Francis stood there, as stoic as before. He closed the laptop. “I wish it didn’t have to come to this,” he said finally, as Arthur’s screams reduced to muffled sobs, shaking and staring ahead of him with wide eyes. Francis pulled open a drawer and reached inside. He pulled out a pistol, holding it in one hand. All the while he didn’t take his gaze off Arthur.

“It looks like this is _adieu_ , Arthur Kirkland.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this worth the wait? I hope it was worth the wait. 
> 
> Shout out to my amazing beta for kicking my ass and getting me to finish this--


	18. Monster

Arthur couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. He was sure he’d forgotten how to breathe. This couldn’t be real. At any moment he expected to wake up in a cold sweat, with Feliks sleeping in the next bed over and Raivis snoring against his pillow. Even with his gaze fixed on the pistol, he wasn’t afraid. Everything was numb. It just wasn’t sinking in.

“We’ll bring this to the roof,” Francis said, his voice far away. “I don’t want a mess in my office.”

Thompson jerked him around the chair and started dragging him towards the door. Arthur didn’t fight back. He stared straight ahead, up until his gaze found Matt again. They locked eyes, and it was like a punch to the gut.

Alfred was dead. He put his trust in him, and now he was dead. And Matt may as well have helped him pull the trigger. He wanted to ask why. But from the emptiness in Matt’s stare, it was clear he wouldn’t get an answer. Besides, did Matt even know? Arthur couldn’t believe that Matt would send his own twin to his death. Not if he knew.

“Your brother,” Arthur said, and Matt flinched. “Alfred. He’s—”

Thompson hit the back of his head. “Shut up.” His scowl was dark and full of hatred. “Fucking pig. You don’t get to speak.”

From the corner of his eye, Francis watched the exchange. His impassive expression didn’t change. Instead he continued walking, moving past them and heading further down the hall. He came to a stop in front of the door closest to the elevator, and when they reached him, he opened it. His ears still ringing from the strike to his head, Arthur stole a glance inside. A stairwell.

“Keep moving,” Thompson said, pushing Arthur forward and starting them up the stairs. Francis led the way, with Matt and Wang following close behind. They climbed only two sets before reaching the top. Wang moved ahead of them and unlocked the heavy door, pushing it open for the rest.

The moment Arthur stepped outside wind slapped him full force. His eyes watered, and he squinted. The roof was barren aside from vents and heaters. The watery morning light gave no relief to the chill. Thompson shoved him forward again, and didn’t stop until they were at the very edge.

He was shoved onto his knees, gravel digging into his skin through his pants and crunching as Thompson walked away. Another set of footsteps came up behind him and stopped. There was a soft click as the pistol’s safety turned off.

“Francis,” Arthur said, words wavering, “you don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, but it’s not a matter of _having_ to do it,” Francis said. There was an icy mirth laced in his words. “I _want_ to do it.”

Arthur stared at the ground, eyes stinging from the wind. Tears still slid down his cheeks. He opened his mouth to say something – anything, really – but he was at a loss. This was what he deserved. Everything about this was rigged against him from the start.

When it was clear he wasn’t saying anything else, Francis pressed the gun to the back of his head. The cold barrel sent a shiver down his back.

“You’ll be an example,” Francis said, “to anyone that thinks they can trick me.”

Arthur was terrified. He didn’t want to die. But Alfred didn’t want to die, either, and neither did Mei. This was his due. There was no one but himself to blame. His chest ached as he took in one last deep breath. He shut his eyes.

The building shook as a deafening explosion rocked its core.

* * *

With considerable effort, Alfred opened his eyes. His first reaction was to groan, both from the bright light shining on his face and the throbbing across his arm.

He sat up, slow and careful. Grimacing, he touched his arm. There was a bandage wrapped around his bicep, and even the lightest touch sent a flare of pain up his arm. He hissed, and then something in the room creaked. His head whipped around. Sitting in a chair beside the cot was a familiar face.

“Natasha?” Alfred asked.

“Actually,” she said, but her voice was unfamiliar, accented, and her arms were folded in front of her chest. “It’s Natalya.”

Confusion filled his face, but then it all came rushing back. He’d gone to the hotel room to wait for Arthur’s contact. Elizabeta was waiting out front among a few other police cars, in radio contact until he gave the signal to move. But it went wrong. Arthur’s contact hadn’t shown up. It was Natasha, and she had a gun, and…

“You shot me,” Alfred said, incredulous, and stared at her.

“Correct,” Natasha – no, _Natalya_ – replied.

“You fucking _shot_ me,” Alfred repeated, angrier this time, and she sighed.

“Yes, we have established this.”

“You could’ve killed me!”

“If I wanted to kill you,” Natalya said, her eyes narrowed. “I would have done so with the first shot.”

“Why the fuck did you shoot me?” Alfred shifted, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot. His arm throbbed and he winced. “Who the fuck _are_ you?”

“That shouldn’t be your concern right now,” she said.

“Well it fucking is.” Alfred reached for his radio, only to be met with empty space. His belt – along with his gun – was gone. Gritting his teeth and curling his hand into a fist, he glared at her. “I want answers.”

“And I will give them.”

Alfred’s teeth ground together. “Where’s my radio?”

“You will get your radio back in due time,” Natalya said, and she shifted her arms. The radio was settled between them and her stomach. Alfred eyed it for a moment before looking back at her.

“Do you work for the trafficking ring?”

Natalya remained impassive. “No longer.”

Alfred frowned. He searched her face for any hint of an answer, and when she didn’t continue, he huffed. “What do you mean by that? You used to? Why not anymore?”

“It got to be too dangerous. My employer was starting to get…” Natalya trailed off. “Irrational.”

A chill went up Alfred’s back. “What happened to Arthur’s contact?”

“You mean the one who tipped my employer off?” Natalya lifted a brow at Alfred’s stunned look. “He is fine, as far as I know.”

Alfred was shaking. He couldn’t believe it. Arthur put his trust in that contact, and he was sold out. But no sooner did that sink in did a terrible thought occur to him. “What happened to Arthur? Is he okay?”

Natalya crossed one leg over the other, and said, “At a guess, they are on their way to kill him.”

“What?” Alfred jumped to his feet, almost knocking over the cot and causing his arm to throb with a hot flash of pain. He grabbed it, hissing and gritting his teeth. When the pain subsided, he looked back at Natalya. “Where? Where is he?”

“Not far,” she replied, and stood up. Alfred reached for the radio but she held it out of reach, eyes narrowing. “First you must do as I tell you. And if you try anything else, I will break this radio, and you will not get to Arthur in time.”

Alfred curled his hand into a fist, then forced it to relax. He straightened and frowned at her, mouth a tense line. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

Natalya smiled in a way that didn’t reach her eyes. “Very good.” She reached into her pocket and tossed him a plastic baggie. Inside were two small white pills. “First take these painkillers. You will need to be able to move fast, and that bullet wound isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

Alfred stared at them, then tore the bag open and shook them out into his palm. He dry-swallowed, grimacing and shaking his head as they went down. “Fuck.”

“Next,” Natalya went on, “You will use this.” Again, she reached into her pocket. This time, it was a disposable phone that was placed in his hand. When Alfred frowned, she said, “It is a trigger. All you need to do is hit the call button, and it will set off the bomb—”

“Wait, the _what_?” Alfred dropped the phone as if it burned him. “You’re asking me to set off a bomb? Why?”

“For several reasons,” Natalya said, undeterred by his shock. “One of them being that there is an active block to any outgoing signals save for a select few. If you want to use your radio to call for backup, you will need to blow up the source.”

“Which is?”

“In the basement. No, you will not have time to disable it. That is beyond your capabilities.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Alfred said, running his hand through his hair. He turned around in a circle and clenched his fist. After a moment, he picked up the phone from the floor. He eyed it with disgust before looking back at Natalya. “So what, I just do it now?”

“No,” was Natalya’s stern reply. “You will wait thirty seconds until after I leave. The phone is useless as a trigger until I activate it from mine.”

“You thought this through.”

“I had a lot of time to plan this.” Natalya started for the door, only to pause and look back at him. “Do not search for me. Focus on your partner. He is your greater concern.”

“So, what?” Alfred asked, lifting a brow in disbelief. “I just let you walk away? You’re an accomplice. You _shot_ me. You can’t just get away with that.”

Natalya gave him another cold smile. “Think that if you want. It will not change that if you go after me, your partner will die, and those responsible will get away.” She tossed his radio onto the cot. As he picked it up, she opened the door. “Until I see you again, Alfred.”

The room was silent after she shut the door behind her.

Alfred wasted no time in trying his radio. He flicked between the channels, and double-checked the battery. But Natalya was true to her word. He was met only with dead air. He swore and paced in a circle. The watch on his wrist told him to wait another fifteen seconds before trying the trigger.

“This is insane,” he said. It was.

Heading over to the door, he tried the handle. It was unlocked. Opening it, he found himself at the end of a hallway. There were more doors lining the walls. On a whim he tried the one across from him. It opened, and it was a room almost identical to the one he started in. The same went for the next few doors he opened, going down the hall until – five doors down – he found one locked. Alfred frowned and pressed his ear to the door. There was silence on the other side.

“Hello?” he called out, and his voice bounced around the hall. He waited, counting to ten, before stepping back from the door. He kicked right next to the knob and the wood splintered as it swung wide open.

This room wasn’t empty. The cot had a young man – no, more like a boy – strapped to it, looking barely in his teens and covered in bruises. Many were old, but a good handful were fresh. He groaned, and Alfred ran over to him.

“Feliks?” the boy slurred, his head lolling to one side as he struggled to look at him.

“Sorry,” Alfred replied, “He’s not here.” He undid the leather straps holding the boy down, and then moved to check his pulse. It was weak. His gaze travelled down further until he saw the track marks on his arms. Drugged. “What’s your name?”

“Raivis,” the boy said, and blinked his bleary eyes at him a few times. “Who are you? You’re not Thompson…”

Alfred didn’t answer, sliding his arms under the boy’s neck and legs. “Nevermind that, Raivis. I’m getting you out of here.” He carried him out of the room, only to stop in the hallway. This kid needed an ambulance; an entire hospital team. There was no way he could help him and save Arthur at the same time. Swearing, he crouched down and leaned Raivis against the wall. He didn’t protest, with his eyes already shut again, completely out of it.

Alfred checked his watch again. Natalya supposedly activated her trigger seven and a half minutes ago. Now it was on him. It was possible to try and find Arthur on his own. But without backup or his gun, there was no telling just how bad that could go. “Fuck,” he said under his breath, and pulled out the phone. His thumb rested on the call button. It took a couple of seconds for him to notice his hand was shaking. His frown deepened as he tried to steady himself. This was for Arthur. Gritting his teeth and holding his breath, Alfred pressed the trigger.

* * *

The pistol went off above Arthur’s head. The gunshot all but burst his eardrums, a high-pitched ring drowning out everything else as he fell onto his side. He clutched his head and rolled onto his back. There was thick smoke in the air, drifting up from the floors far below them. Francis stood behind him still, but his attention was on his thugs.

“—begin the evacuation,” he shouted, waving his pistol for emphasis. “Any casualties will cost you ten times as much as it will cost me.” Wang nodded before running for the stairs. Thompson lingered, and Francis turned to him. “Go see what happened. I’m calling Arlovskaya.”

With Thompson gone, Francis pulled out his phone. Arthur started to sit up, only to have the pistol pointed in his face again. Francis was fixing him with an icy stare. “You aren’t going anywhere,” he said. He brought his phone to his ear, and after a few tense seconds, he snapped, “Arlovskaya, where are you?”

There was silence as she responded. Behind Francis, Matt was fidgeting and stealing glances down at the streets below. At first he assumed he was worried about the explosion. But alertness of his stare told him otherwise: he was watching for law enforcement. Arthur looked back at Francis in time to see his demeanor switch, lips curling down in shock. “Get over here. I need you to—”

“Francis,” Matt said, stepping over to him. “We need to get out of here.” The ringing was fully gone, and Arthur could hear the wail of sirens approaching. Francis ignored both.

“Arlovskaya, damage control is your specialty. Come over here immediately.”

Matt grabbed Francis’ shoulder. “Francis, we have to go—”

In a flash Francis whipped his phone out of his hand. It smashed against the entrance to the building, the disconnected call screen flickering before it died. Matt recoiled in surprise, but again, Francis ignored him. Instead, his focus went back to Arthur. His eyes were filled with cold, suppressed rage.

“This is all because of you.”

Arthur didn’t have the words to respond. There was murder in his eyes. Any affection he might have held was absent. Francis wanted him dead. He stared Francis down, waiting for him to pull the trigger and make due on his unspoken promise. But instead, he spoke to Matt: “Go retrieve the car. We’re leaving.”

Matt shot a glance at Arthur. “What about—?”

“I’ll handle it,” Francis replied, and his finger tensed on the trigger for a moment before relaxing. “Go, Mathieu. Relay to Wang that there’s a change of plans. We’re cutting our losses.”

For a moment Matt hesitated. He glanced from Arthur to Francis, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded and headed to the stairs. Soon, it was just Francis and Arthur. A silence stretched between them, until Francis tutted and shut his eyes.

“Oh, _mon lapin_ , you’ve caused so much trouble for me.”

Arthur stared, bewildered, and responded, “Are you going to leave everyone here? Just like that?”

“I do it with a very heavy heart,” Francis said, “Believe me. I don’t relish in the thought of so many burning to death.”

“You’re a monster,” Arthur stated, and Francis laughed, hard and cold.

“Oh, you haven’t the slightest idea,” he said, and adjusted his grip on the pistol.

The sirens were drawing closer. There was a cold sweat on the back of his neck. Time; he could still stall for time. “You can’t keep running forever, Francis,” Arthur retorted, and when Francis didn’t pull the trigger, he went on, “If I could infiltrate your group, it’s only a matter of time before you’re caught. You won’t keep getting away with this. Any of this!”

“You seem to forget how long I’ve been doing this, _mon lapin_ ,” Francis said, all amusement gone.

“I know you’ve been doing this since Jeanne was taken from you. But is this what she would have wanted?” Arthur shifted onto his knees, and met Francis’ stare without flinching. “Think about how much you loved her. You were trying to save her from this life. And when she died, what did you do? You became the exact thing she wanted to escape from!” Francis didn’t say anything. His face was blank. Arthur, taking it as his chance, continued: “Hate me if you will, but do the right thing for Jeanne!”

Francis snorted. His blank mask shattered, and as Arthur looked on in shock, he erupted into a fit of laughter. He clutched his stomach, almost doubling over from his heaving, and a tear even started to slide down his face from the sheer hilarity. The pistol was lowered, but Arthur couldn’t even register it in time to make a grab for it. Instead he watched, too stunned to move, as Francis shook with each laugh.

After a few more gasps and chortles, he started to straighten. With his free hand, Francis wiped at the tears, and a gleeful smile still lingered on his lips. He looked at Arthur again, and almost lost his composure a second time, shaking his head.

“I don’t,” Arthur said, his voice soft, “I don’t understand. What’s so funny?”

“What’s so funny?” Francis repeated, as if it were the most obvious question he’d ever been asked. “What’s absolutely _hilarious_ to me is that you actually believed me.”

“What?” The word came out impossibly small.

Francis shook his head again. “Oh, _mon lapin_ , I can’t handle your naivety any longer. It’s almost painful to watch you, believing everything I told you was the truth.”

An icy pit of dread chilled Arthur.

“Granted, my story was very convincing. Throw enough truth in and any lie will seem real.” Francis waved the pistol around. “I did meet a young woman named Jeanne many years ago, and she was my patient. She was owned by a human trafficking ring that commissioned me for under-the-table services. I did fall hopelessly in love with her and planned to help her escape. None of that was a lie.” His hand stilled, and he stared far off, as if reliving a memory. “But she never loved me.

“I was a tool to her. A means to escape. She was caught conspiring by one of Romulus’ men, and when interrogated, she pointed the finger at me.” Francis continued to smile. “Oh, they didn’t take too kindly to my idea. But I didn’t take too kindly to discovering that, when it came down to it, she was willing to throw me under the bus.”

“But they killed her,” Arthur said, disbelief tugging at his voice. “Even though she gave you up?”

“No,” Francis replied, shaking his head. “They planned to kill _me_. Jeanne was too valuable to simply put down like a rabid dog. But I wasn’t going to stand for that, _mon lapin_. I wasn’t going to let her, _mon trésor,_ toss me aside like I was nothing.” His words were sharp as a blade, heated and rising with his anger. But then, calm swept over him again, and he smiled once more. “So I killed her.”

“No,” Arthur said, but even as he did, it hit him how stupid he sounded. At this point, there was no reason for Francis to lie to him. Not any more. But the horror of it wasn’t sinking in yet. Francis continued to smile, almost tranquil from the memory of Jeanne; of murdering her.

“I killed her,” Francis repeated, “with my own hands.” His grip tightened on the pistol. “It’s a shame I won’t be doing the same to you.”

The pistol fired as Arthur charged forward. The bullet whizzed past him, and he rammed into Francis’ middle, throwing him off balance. He grabbed Francis’ wrist just as he squeezed the trigger again. This time the shot went wild, embedding into the gravel with a spray of dirt. He grabbed Francis’ other wrist, pushing against him as he straightened up. They struggled, pushing and pulling against each other until Arthur slammed his forehead against Francis’ nose. He yelled and dropped the pistol as blood flooded down to his mouth. With a heave, Arthur dove for the pistol. But Francis grabbed the back of his shirt and threw him aside.

Arthur hit the ground hard. He wheezed as all breath escaped him. Rolling to his side, he made for the gun again. This time, Francis kicked his arms and jumped on top of him.

Struggling to get out from beneath Francis, he pushed with one arm while the other stretched for the pistol, just barely out of reach. He gave a harsh shove, only to get a knee straight into his gut. Arthur cried out, his outstretched hand recoiling as pain shot through him. Now Francis was closer, jumping back off him and heading straight for the gun. But right as his fingers brushed the handle, Arthur kicked and aimed for the gun. By some miracle, it connected and spun away from them. Francis whirled on him with a glare that could kill.

Abandoning his efforts to grab the gun, instead he lunged for Arthur. All too quickly he was pinned again, both of Francis' knees on his shoulders, and his hands wrapped around his throat. Tighter and tighter Francis squeezed. Arthur gasped, clawing at his hands. Spots danced at the edges of his vision.

"I'm going to enjoy snuffing out your life, _mon lapin_ ," Francis said, leaning so their eyes were inches apart. "I can't wait to see the light leave your eyes."

All they had was an enraged yell as warning before Francis went tumbling off him. Arthur gasped, his hand flying to his throat as he heaved in lungful’s of air. Sitting up on his elbows, his eyes went huge as he saw none other than Alfred pressing Francis to the floor. His glasses were askew, and there was a blossoming bruise across his cheek. There were even bandages wrapped across his arm. But he was there, and very much alive.

“Alfred,” Arthur tried to say, but his voice came out as a raspy whisper. Not hearing him, Alfred twisted Francis’ arm behind his back and pushed his face into the gravel.

“You fucker,” Alfred said, chest heaving up and down. “You’re going to go to prison and fucking rot.”

“Alfred!” This time Arthur’s voice didn’t fail him. He sat up, and Alfred turned his head. Tears burned at the back of his eyes. “You’re alive? How? I saw—”

“She missed,” Alfred replied with a grin. Beneath him, Francis scoffed and spat blood from his mouth. Alfred looked down at him, and his smile morphed into a scowl. “Got something you wanna add, asshole? I’m all ears.”

“ _Non_ ,” Francis said, and let out a laugh close to a wheeze. “Not at all. I’m curious how you made it past Thompson.”

“He wasn’t that hard,” Alfred retorted as he wrinkled his nose. The bruise moved, and he winced. “Got him back plenty for what he did to that kid.”

“Raivis?” Arthur pushed himself to his feet. “Raivis is still here?”

“Yeah. The kid was drugged as hell, and banged up. But he’s okay. He’s safe until help comes.” Alfred glared at Francis. “And it will soon. Elizabeta and the rest of the precinct are high-tailing their asses over to here.”

It was over. Arthur’s shoulders sagged in relief. The sirens were right beneath them now, fire trucks and ambulances followed by the close approach of police cars. The piercing wails were music to his ears. Everything was going to work out. Francis would get arrested, and so would Thompson, Wang, and…

Arthur tensed. Alfred didn’t know about Matt. “Alfred,” he said, “I need to tell you something.”

“Can it wait?” Alfred asked, and grimaced at the harshness of his tone. “Sorry, but I’m running on adrenaline. The painkillers I took can only do so much for a gunshot wound.”

“No, it can’t wait,” Arthur replied, and when Alfred frowned, he sucked in a breath. “You’re not going to like it, Alfred, but… It’s about your—”

“It’s about me.”

Arthur’s gaze jerked to the door. Matt stood there, Francis’ pistol in hand and pointed at them. Off to the side, Francis was chuckling. “It’s about time you got back, Mathieu. I was starting to worry.”

“Matthew,” Arthur started out, only to have the pistol turned to him.

“Shut up.” Matt’s expression didn’t change. He took a few steps forward and then shifted the gun back between them. “Francis is coming with me.”

“Mattie?”

It was Alfred. He stared at Matt, jaw slack in disbelief. The hand pressing Francis’ face into the gravel loosened. “Mattie,” Alfred said again, quieter than before. “Is that really you?”

Matt looked at Alfred, and his face didn’t change. There was a quiet resignation as he sighed before aiming the pistol right at Alfred. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be dead.”

“What?” Alfred hadn’t lost the hopefulness in his voice. He let go of Francis’ hair. Even his grip on Francis’ arm was lax. “What are you talking about, Mattie?”

Matt grimaced, and gripped the pistol with both hands. “You were supposed to die,” he said. His finger tensed on the trigger. “Arlovskaya told me she was going to kill you.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry about that two-month wait, guys--


End file.
